


Over Easy

by CandiedGears



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, F/F, F/M, Lucio is gay, Original Character - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overwatch - Freeform, Polyamory, Possible smut, Slow Burn, cloning, genetic mutation, lots of flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-05-20 09:31:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandiedGears/pseuds/CandiedGears
Summary: Briallen Marsh thought she knew exactly what she was applying for; a simple job as an assistant to a simple, busy corporation manager, doing simple things such as dusting the office, organising files, answering phone calls and emails, making coffee. She expected a nerve-wracking interview with a terrifyingly attractive CEO, not to be staring down the barrel of a pistol belonging to a terrorist group currently plaguing Walworth and the surrounding cities. She also didn't expect to be saved by a ruggedly charming cowboy in a bloodied suit or to be whisked away to suddenly join an illegal organisation whose sole purpose was to keep humanity relatively safe.Follow Briallen as she stumbles her way through the plot into the hearts of her soon-to-be coworkers and learns more about herself as a person and who she used to be. Who will she choose? Who was she before? And why does her cat love everyone but Jack? Find out in Over Easy, a story named after eggs for no apparent reason.*!\UNDER HEAVY CONSTRUCTION/!*This story is a work in progress and heavily affected by all of you. As such, I'm taking chapter requests and suggestions! Enjoy!





	1. Entering the Hive

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to put off your perusal of the first chapter so early, but, I'd thought I'd mention that this is a HUGE work in progress for me and I'm such a disorganised mess that I'm scrambling to keep everything together. I have not yet come up with an ending or decided who the mc should end up with, and that's where you come in! I've created a poll where you can choose who you'd like to see our little heroine cuddle up to! Just click the link and ready, set, vote! I'm excited to see your answers! 
> 
> Remember, no artist can become any better without constructive criticism! So, feel free to leave your kudos, comments, or even DM me on Tumblr @candiedgears with your thoughts on how I can make this better! Honestly, even if all you have to say is that it sucks, I'd still appreciate it, as it helps me understand how best to go forward with things!
> 
> Sorry for this being so long! But, it's over now, so sit back, relax, grab your popcorn, and enjoy the show!  
> http://pollmaker.vote/p/FZ9PH44P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Welcome to chapter two! I'm really excited to see how this all works out and how the story's going to unfold! I'm a compulsive re-rereader, so, sometimes I might go through to fix up a chapter to make it better or more detailed and, every now and then, might change some things. So make sure to check back often as there might be something new that you haven't read yet!
> 
> Don't forget to cast your vote on who you think our little honeybee will end up with! I'm really looking forward to seeing who you all choose! 
> 
> And, as always, no artist can improve without a healthy dose of criticism! Leave your kudos, a comment, or message me directly on Tumblr @candiedgears to give me some feedback! Without it, I can't improve or take suggestions as to what you all want to see come out of this little story of mine!
> 
> Vote here!: http://pollmaker.vote/p/FZ9PH44P

The tube was just a bit crowded when you and the cowboy stepped on, each of you wearing coats to hide the blood staining your clothes. McCree had taken care of the blood on your face, trying his best not to mess up your makeup, and you’ll admit he did a pretty good job of it, only managing to wipe off the light layer of foundation and bits of your lipstick (you weren’t sure how you felt about the intimacy of his fingers brushing against your lips). Thankfully, though, you’d brought some items to touch it up just in case something happened, because, with you, something always did.

“Pardon us,” McCree murmured, offering an old lady a charming smile as he pulled you through the crowd to the other side of the compartment. His warm hand encased yours, gently tugging your uninjured arm, making sure you were close to him when he was satisfied with the spot he had chosen.

“Ooh, my pleasure,” the woman said, giggling softly as she very obviously checked him out. “Say, it’s been a while since I’ve heard a Southern Colonial accent! Where are you from, young man? And what brought you to Walworth?” Her old green eyes twinkled with interest as she turned to face him, hardly glancing over at you.

‘ _ Good, _ ’ you thought, shifting your stance a bit to make yourself feel more invisible, nearly tucked away behind McCree’s larger frame. ‘ _ Just how I like it. Let McCree’s natural beauty hide you. _ ’

McCree chuckled, brushing a hand through his bangs. “Santa Fe, New Mexico, born ‘n’ raised, ma’am,” he said, stepping closer to you with a smile, a hand dropping to wrap loosely around your waist. “My partner ‘n’ I are just here on some business.”

“Really, is that so? And where are you from, dear?” she asked, seeming to eye you a bit.

‘ _ Of course she had to ask me the one of the only questions I can’t answer! _ ’ You shifted a bit awkwardly under her gaze, the adrenaline beginning to fade and leaving you feeling jittery and slightly nauseous. “I, um, Ireland,” ‘ _ I think _ ,’ you murmured softly, avoiding eye contact with the woman; her eyes reminded you too much of the young woman’s from earlier.

The lady sniffed a bit, waiting for more information, but didn’t press when you said nothing else. Instead, she went back to talking jovially with McCree, their conversation fading in your ears as your heartbeat outbid it for your attention and your vision began to fade to black.

Two people. You’d killed two people without hesitating. What if they had families, people, pets waiting for them at home? What if they had kids? They had been people too, living, breathing human beings with emotions and thoughts all their own, too complex for you to have ever understood, and you had obliterated them, struck them down without mercy, erased them off the face of the earth. That man had just been doing his job, and the woman? Perhaps they had been lovers, maybe she was just trying to defend her boss. Whatever it was, whoever they were, you had killed them.  _ You _ . 

Your chest squeezed as you started to hyperventilate, your stomach doing flips, making you feel as if you were going to be sick right then and there. Everything was muted, the chatter of the tube was gone, replaced by a dull, buzzing hum, the world in front of your eyes dark enough that you could hardly make out your shaking hands as you held one out in front of you.

McCree’s voice was nothing but a louder buzz, but you recognised it, recognised the lilting southern cadence and felt the way his hand rubbed your side, catching your attention. You looked up to see his worried face, eyes searching and confused as you struggled to breathe, your entire body shaking.

“ _ Are you alright, sweetpea? _ ” You read the words on his lips, beginning to sway on your feet. A whimper broke through your lips in response and your knees buckled underneath you, bringing you quickly down to the ground, the world suddenly snapping back into focus.

“Whoa, hey now,” he said, quickly moving to catch you before you hit the floor. His arms wrapped around your small frame, pulling you into his chest.

Suddenly, all eyes were on you and you panicked again, nausea rising in your chest. People began to whisper, watching you carefully. Judging you. Talking. They knew.

You were a murderer.

You clung to him as he pulled you up to stand, still gasping for air, and hid your face in his chest, not wanting to look at anyone. What were they saying? What did they think of you now? You weren’t worth it, you weren’t. They knew who you were, knew your face, knew what happened. They knew you had killed someone. What else would explain your odd behaviour? Now they were going to call the cops and you were going to have to spend the rest of your life in prison. But what about McCree? You were clinging to him like a child, would he have compassion and stay with you, or abandon you? Would he get caught as well? 

“Oh dear, is she alright?” You could hear the voice of the old woman inquiring about your health, but the words didn’t quite sink in. You’d killed them. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer! You squeezed your eyes closed, trying to block out the thoughts screaming at you from inside your head.

McCree hesitated before nodding decisively. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. Is there any space she could sit?”

“Right here! Mack, get your lazy arse up, the lady’s havin’ a cow!” came the voice of a young man from behind you. 

You felt McCree nod, and were grateful for his steadying hand on your lower back as he guided you over to the seat. “First time?” he asked next to your ear, crouching down in front of you when you sat. His hands enveloped yours, thumbs rubbing at the tops of your smaller hands.

You nodded, trying to regain your breath and block out the murmuring of everyone else. Was this how he’d felt the first time? “They know,” your voice squeezed without you meaning it to, weak and soft, like a scared child, breath becoming increasingly hard to hold onto.

“No, no, no, deep breath, darlin’,” he murmured, shaking his head and squeezing your hands, his brows furrowing with concern. “They don’t know a thing, sweetheart, jus’ listen t’me, ok? Everythin’s gonna be ok, you did what ya needed to. They weren’t good people, Ms. Marsh,” he paused, pursing his lips together. He moved both of your hands into one of his, wrapped an arm gently around your shoulders, and sat down next to you, pulling you against his side.

His warmth and scent were comforting, lulling you into a sense of security. You jumped at the feel of his fingers brushing against your cheek, and turned to see that they were wet where they had touched your skin; you were crying.

“Think of it this way,” he leaned over, letting a bit of his weight act as a security blanket, calming you a bit more, “you saved more people than ya killed today. Roy Adams was far from a good man. You did the world a favour, Ms. Marsh.”

“I did?” you breathed, squeezing his metal fingers.

He chuckled, the vibrations rolling from his chest to yours. “That you did, darlin’.”

His words brought you comfort and you nodded, sniffing lightly. You could still feel eyes on you, however, and it made you uncomfortable. “Is this how you greet all your new employees?” you joked, trying to distract him from your moral plight.

He laughed, shifting and making you wince as pain rippled through your right arm. “Sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head. “An’ no, it ain’t, but it sure as hell makes you look a much better candidate fer the position.”

You sat in comfortable quiet the rest of the trip to London, not wanting to discuss things in more detail in case someone was listening in. By the time the tube had come to a stop, you had regained your breathing and could stand on your own. You were still upset about having killed two people, but the knowledge that you had saved more gave you a sense of solace. You clung to that.

McCree led you through the streets, keeping you pressed close to his side so he wouldn’t lose you in the crowd, until he came to a small building down in the back of an empty alleyway. He knocked twice on the rusty door and it swung inward, revealing a surprisingly clean interior. 

“Ladies first,” he said with a smile, gesturing into the hallway, following you in. “Evenin’, Doc!” He called jovially, beginning to take his jacket off after closing the door behind him. “I brought home a stray. Can we keep ‘er?”

You glared back at him, waiting for him to walk ahead of you so you could follow quietly behind him. ‘ _ A stray? Really? How demeaning… _ ’ You scoffed softly, turning your gaze away to observe the interior of this little hidden lair.

It was surprisingly clean for a building tucked away far into a dirty alleyway; white tiled floors and bare grey walls, it resembled an office building more than anything. The hall you walked down led to what appeared to be a small set of offices. A few tables sat in the middle of the open space supporting an array of computers and monitors, at which sat a small handful of people you didn't recognise past their Overwatch uniforms. They were busy typing away, each seeming to be writing up a report from what you could see on their monitors. On a few of the screens not taken up by white backgrounds with pages of words, you could see video footage of the inside of Lucky's, some a replay of your escapade, others showcasing the present; it was filled with police officers.

You watched as one of the bobbies picked up the semiautomatic you'd used to take down Adams and his henchwoman, then looked down at your bare, uncovered hands. They had your fingerprint, and, with the knife the woman had sliced your shoulder open with, your blood type and DNA. Just to top it all off, if Overwatch had access to the surveillance, so too did the police, which meant they could link both your fingerprint and your DNA to your face.

“Well now,” you breathed, a certain cold fear settling in your stomach. “Guess I'm a wanted woman now. Today has been one giant walk in the park.”

“Now, now, don't worry, Ms. Marsh,” a sweet German voice said as a familiar blonde woman came sweeping into the room, casting worried blue eyes over the arm you were unconsciously cradling. “We have contingency plans in place.”

Your eyes widened and your voice caught in your throat. Before you stood  _ the _ Angela Ziegler, the esteemed doctor who had saved countless lives on and off the field, basically revolutionised modern medicine, and saved your life all those years ago. She looked even better in person, standing almost half a foot taller than you in her signature lab coat and messy ponytail, practically a Swiss goddess with a stethoscope.

You were literally face to face with your hero.

“Jesse, is that your blood?” she asked, turning shining cerulean pools onto him as he set his jacket down on one of the few empty chairs.

Jesse shook his head. “I ain't the one y'need t'be fussin’ over, Doc. Ms. Marsh caught a bullet ‘n had an encounter with the business edge of a blade on the same arm. I wrapped ‘er up best I could, but I ain't no doctor, thought I'd leave it to the professional.” He tipped his head with a friendly smile, reaching for the cowboy hat he'd left on the table and placing it on his head.

She pursed her lips, giving him a slight nod before coming over to help you out of your jacket. The makeshift bandages of your wounds were soaked through with blood and you hissed as she began to pull them back to assess the damage. To your surprise, they had already begun to heal.

“Wha-”

“Jesse must have dipped his shirt in the fluid from my caduceus,” Dr. Ziegler said quickly, shaking her head. “Come with me, Ms. Marsh. Let's get the bullet out of your arm and the wounds seen up. How are you with pain?”

“Um… I mean, I made it through the tube and London crowds without crying out, so, pretty good, I guess?” you said, furrowing your brow as you looked up at the doctor.

She smiled and nodded. “Then we can hold the interview while I get you patched up. Winston is very eager to speak with you. You've made quite the impression on all of us.”

Your brain whirling, you followed her quietly to one of the back offices, sitting down on the table when she pointed you to. They were still going to hold the interview?  _ The _ Winston, super smart gorilla scientist who’d created a fucking chronal accelerator by himself, wanted to speak with you, an average, wandering fangirl? And what did Dr. Ziegler mean, you'd made an impression on them? Had they been watching you? And who was “them”?

You looked down at your feet as you tried to get a handle on your thoughts, listening to Dr. Ziegler tap away at her keyboard, trying to think of something to say. You had so many questions and the person who had saved your life was literally standing before you, and yet, the only words you could formulate were;

“Dr. Ziegler?” 

She glanced back at you, raising an eyebrow with a smile. “Just Angela, please.”

You blushed a bit, clearing your throat. “R-Right. A-A-Angela, um, thank you for, you know, saving my life and all that. I, uh, I know I must not have been a good person, but, um, you still went out of your way to, you know, help me and I-I really appreciate it.”

Dr. Zie-  _ Angela _ stiffened a bit, glancing back over at you with a nervous smile. “Well, I was glad to do so. I couldn't leave you to die. But, what makes you think you were a bad person, Ms. Marsh?”

You gave her a one-shoulder shrug, trying to keep your wounded arm still. “Well, no one came to claim me. I sat in that hospital for months and no one came in to do so much as to simply give my name. So, I have to assume I was a bad person, right?”

Her smile softened into something sadder, and she finished up at the computer before coming over. She laid a warm hand on your shoulder as the holoprojector came to life, displaying the monitor on the screen opposite you. Angela was calling Winston.

“You were not a bad person, Ms. Marsh, just… Misguided.”

Your eyes widened and you looked up at her, nearly gaping. “Did… Did you know me?”

She hesitated again, refusing to meet your gaze. “I'd… Heard of you, yes. But let's not dwell on the past right now. Ah, Winston! Perfect timing!” she said, looking up as the gorilla's face appeared on the screen.

Winston grinned widely, his large teeth gleaming in the light shining on his face. “Ah, there she is! The lady of the hour!” he said, eyes on you. “How are you holding up, Ms. Marsh?”

“Well, I think I'm ok. I mean I’ve got  _ the  _ Angela Ziegler taking care of me, I killed two people, which I'm still struggling to fully come to terms with, overpowered a woman nearly twice my size muscle-wise, and now I'm a wanted woman, so…” You shrugged, instantly regretting the action as it sent pain ripping through your right side.

Winston laughed when you hissed in pain, his amber eyes bright with mirth. “Still going strong after everything? You're made of tougher material than your file insinuated! Definitely Overwatch material, if I do say so myself.”

You flinched slightly when Angela applied some disinfectant to your gunshot wound and quickly began working to get the bullet out, but kept as straight a face as you could. ‘ _ Don't blow this for yourself, Bri. This is still an interview. _ ’ You managed a smile, keeping your gaze away from what Angela was doing. “You flatter me, sir, but I'm not that tough.”

He laughed again and shook his head. “Nonsense! Don't doubt yourself. Anyway, don't worry about the “wanted” stuff, we have contingency plans in place, which give you a variety of options, but we'll get to those later. Before we get on to the interview, allow me to formally apologise for everything that happened this afternoon, on behalf of the whole of Overwatch. We in no way intended on putting you in danger or in Arachnid’s line of fire, it just so happened that the information regarding your interview was somehow leaked to some of Arachnid’s higher-ups and they decided to take action. 

“Originally, you were not to know that you were being interviewed for a position in Overwatch, we had one of our engineering interns ready to hold it for you, but once we caught word that Arachnid knew… We had to make some hasty decisions.” He paused and scratched at his head, looking a bit deadly serious before the expression melted into another jovial smile. “But, perhaps, this was a blessing in disguise.”

You flinched as Angela pulled away, the bullet gripped between the tips of a pair of forceps. Strangely enough, the bullet was entirely flattened and bent in an arch, almost as if it had hit the bone straight on and begun to mold around it from the impact alone. But, that couldn’t be possible, right? If the bullet had hit the bone of your upper arm, it would have shattered it. At least, as far as you knew. 

“A blessing in disguise?” you asked, furrowing your brows as you looked up to Angela, but she gave no indication of whether this was normal or not, just turned around to dispose of the bullet into a nearby tray before picking up her needle and thread to sew up the wound. 

“Well, yes. While the questions I had formulated would have given us an accurate profile of your character, this let us see you acting naturally. Not only that, but it allowed us a very in-depth look at your moral values, mental state, and your defensive skills. Ms. Marsh, I must say, you would fit right in amongst our agents here,” Winston said, pushing his glasses up. 

You sat quietly for a few seconds, watching Angela finish up with the gunshot wound and move onto the gash in your shoulder. You could hardly feel the needle as it pushed through your skin, more a testament to Angela’s skills as a doctor than your pain tolerance. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” you asked, turning your gaze back up to the projected image of the gorilla. “Those contingency plans, what did they entail?”

Winston’s smile faded as he watched your gaze, faltering. Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Straight to the point, I see. A valuable characteristic in an assistant. Well, Ms. Marsh, after this whole event, you really only have two choices. Not only do you know of the silent recall of Overwatch, but you’ve also become a target to Arachnid, so we really can’t let you go on as you are. We have a separate identity set up and ready for you and a few professional stylists at your location if you so choose, but, even with that, we can’t guarantee that you’ll be completely safe. It is with this in mind, that I greatly urge you to accept this position. It would benefit both of us, you would be safe within the headquarters compound, and we would receive one hell of an assistant.”

Angela finished your shoulder with a flourish, wiping down the area and giving your uninjured shoulder a pat. “You should be fine now, but I would recommend keeping a biotic emitter running in your room for the next week or so to help speed up the healing and reduce scarring. I will make sure to give you a few before you leave today.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ziegler,” you murmured, flexing the muscles of your arm a bit and flinching. ‘ _ Bad idea, Bri. Why did you think that was going to work out well for you? _ ...  _ I’m not to keen on the idea of starting fresh, and I’d rather not have to start going by a whole new name…’  _ “Well, then, when do I start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to vote for who you think our heroine should get freaky with via our Mediocre Matchmaking service!  
> http://pollmaker.vote/p/FZ9PH44P
> 
> See y'all in chapter three!


	2. Sweet Dreams are Made of Bees

_ Screeching tires, crunching metal, a bystander nearby screamed. The tang of blood and smoke stung the nose of the young woman lying on the asphalt and suddenly she found she couldn’t breathe, that every movement sent streaks of unbearable pain coursing through every part of her body. _

_ “Let me through, I am a doctor!” _

_ Camphor and tea flooded her senses as she dove into a pair of cerulean eyes. _

_ A flash of light, the overpowering scent of hospital, the squeaking of wheels, and… _

_ Relief, if only momentary. _

_ “Go… Change your fate…” the name died on the angel’s lips as the heart monitor stalled. _

You awoke with a start, coughing heavily and gasping for air as if you’d been unable to breathe while you’d been asleep. Sweat clung greedily to your skin, sending cold shivers dancing across your arms, exposed to the early morning chill. While you scolded yourself for forgetting to close the window last night, your mind mulled over the scattered remnants of your dream. It was nothing new to you, in fact, this was the fifth time you’d had it within the past month alone, and it had good reason to be showing up so often; in the five years of life you could remember, that was the first comprehensible memory. Well, partially comprehensible – you still didn’t understand parts of it.

Thinking, you rolled over and stared at the ceiling, running your fingers over the elegant silver band resting on your right ring finger. Your name was Briallen Marsh, you were twenty-six years old, you were currently jobless, single, and suffering from amnesia. You had been in an accident five years ago involving a speeding four-wheeler and your inattention to the traffic lights. You’d been hit head on and flew about fifteen feet into the rear windshield of a smaller car with such force that it was actually knocked askew. It was a miracle you survived; had not a doctor been there to keep you stable until they could get you to a hospital, you would have died on the spot. Or so the nurses had told you once you regained consciousness. You’d wanted to thank your saviour, but apparently they had disappeared before you woke up, they did leave a name, though; Doctor Angela Ziegler.  There was the possibility the nurses had been lying, but you liked to think the best of people before you really knew them.

“Maow,” came the plaintive cry of your roommate before he leapt onto your stomach, causing you to let out a breathy “Oof!”

Chuckling, you reached up and scratched the top of his head. “Is it really that time already, Piddie?”

He responded with a soft chirp.

Euripides, or Piddie for short, was your partner in crime and had been with you all five years of your known life. You’d found him, a sick little Cymric kitten, wandering behind the café you worked in for a while back in Switzerland and it was love at first sight. You’d taken him home and nursed him back to health, naming him after one of your favourite ancient playwrights. In all your five years of living, you don’t think you’d ever met a sweeter cat.

You groaned softly, glancing over at the clock beside your bed to check the time; 5:30 AM, a good three hours before you’d normally wake up. Great. Piddie must have sensed your lack of unconsciousness and decided to take advantage of it. One of these days you were going to just ignore him, roll over, and go back to sleep. But today was not going to be the day. Gathering yourself together, you sat up and gently scooped the furry baby up into your arms and trudged your way into the bathroom, blinking the slight bit of sleep fuzz out of your eyes.

“What do you think, Piddie, am I gonna get a call today?” you asked, yawning as you set him down on the little towel bin on the back of your toilet and went to turn the shower on.

Euripides settled down happily amongst the fluffy fabric and purred, flicking his ears.

You chuckled and peeled off your pajamas before climbing into the shower, letting the lukewarm water slowly wake your tired muscles. This was your favourite part of the morning, especially when you could get your old handheld radio working and play some half-decent music to work alongside the semi-cold water to help wake you up. The stations in your area hardly ever played anything good, but it was better than a depressing, silent morning.

Euripides followed you out of the bathroom when you were done, brushing against your wet legs as you searched for something to wear and padding quickly after you when you were dressed and went to make your morning tea. Such was your morning routine; wake up, shower, get dressed, start tea, feed Euripides, edit tea, drink tea and read a good book with the cat on your lap. This had been your routine for a good month while you waited to get calls back for the jobs you had applied for.

“Maybe that cute guy who works at the coffee shop will be there today and a date might spurr out of our awkward small talk,” you said jokingly, pulling the teabag out of your mug.

Euripides gave you the cat version of a frown, pulling his ears back a bit and flicking his nonexistent tail as he took a bite of his Dancy Feast breakfast.

You laughed a bit, spooning a bit of sugar into your tea before picking up your book and heading to the little living room space of your apartment. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s far outside the realm of possibilities for me. I guess I’ll just end up being a crazy cat lady, then. What do you think of having, like, seven siblings, Piddie?”

He growled softly, scarfing down the rest of his breakfast before racing into the living room and hunkering down on your lap, making you laugh again.

“Alright, alright, I guess I’ll have to be a crazy cat lady with  _ one _ cat, though I don’t know how that’s going to work,” you said, petting his head, quickly settling down and slipping into the world of fantasy printed on the pages in your hands.

The morning passed quickly and quietly with no form of disturbance, that is, until it hit 7:00, when your phone suddenly sprang to life with the familiar ringtone that meant an unfamiliar number was calling.

You sprang from the couch, nearly knocking the china mug onto the hardwood floor and swiped up your phone from where it lay on the coffee table. You glanced at the number, only barely registering that it read “Private”, and answered it without a second thought. 

“Ms. Briallen Marsh?” the caller asked before you could even say hello. The voice was deep, slightly gravelly and familiar in such a way that it sent shivers down your spine. Strange, you hadn’t known anyone with such a voice, not that you could remember anyway. Maybe it was one of those weird deja vu moments.

Brushing off the strange feeling, you nodded, shooing Euripides away from your feet where he circled eagerly. “Uh, yes, this is her! How can I help you?” ‘ _ You’ve got to sound cheerful, Bri, Make them like you.’ _

“I’m calling in regards to the application you sent in. Are you available for an interview later today?”

  
  


Honey-brown eyes peered back at you from the glass of the cafe window, nerves sparkling through their depths. You’d dressed nicely for the occasion - a gentle, off-shoulder bow-knot ruffle blouse tucked into a slim black skirt -, done your hair up in a somehow messy and neat ponytail, and even done your makeup, though it wasn’t much. Your entire appearance screamed “assistant”, and that was perfect, it was what you were going for, after all. If you nailed this interview, you were set for life, able to do the little things you enjoyed doing (making coffee, organising paperwork, all the little menial tasks that made life flow easier in a company), and you were going to be paid handsomely for it. Which made you very nervous.

A knock on the window startled you and you looked down to see a young couple staring oddly up at you. The older of the two women waved a hand and offered a confused “Why are you staring?” look to you. Embarrassed, you held up an apologetic hand, chuckling awkwardly as you turned away, rubbing the back of your neck.

‘ _ Good going, Bri, _ ’ you thought, taking a deep breath and forcing yourself to step into the cafe. ‘ _ How awkward can you possibly be? Try not to be like this during the interview… you need the job and the cash. Living in the apartment isn’t exactly cheap, you know… _ ’

“Welcome to Lucky’s!” a waitress greeted you, smiling over in your direction as she finished serving coffee to a table of drooling teenage boys. “Just take a seat and one of our staff will come take your order when you’re ready!”

“Actually,” you started quietly, suddenly conscious of how out of place you looked; everyone here was dressed casually in jumpers and scarves and the occasional hat to battle the autumn chill, and here you were, trussied up and sticking out like a sore thumb. You shrunk a bit where you stood, trying to make yourself look smaller, less of a social target. “I’m here for an interview. Is there a Mr. Jones here?”

The waitress’ smile faded a bit as she thought, her bottom lip poking out, making her look absolutely adorable. “Um, I don’t believe so. Stay right there while I double check for you, love.” She offered you another dazzling smile before gliding away, the boy’s gazes following her, enraptured. You didn’t blame them; she was very attractive.

Nodding, you stood there awkwardly, holding your light autumn jacket in your arms and trying to not feel so out of place. You felt like everyone’s gaze was on you, even though they probably weren’t. You weren’t an important person, so why would they be concerned with you? Even still, your self-consciousness didn’t let up and you felt like you were under a spot light. 

After what felt like an eternity of standing on stage after forgetting your lines, Honey, the pretty waitress whose nametag you could now read, came back with a soft, apologetic smile and a menu. “My apologies, ma’am, but there is no Mr. Jones here now. But, we can get you settled at a table to wait for him, if you’d like,” she offered.

You smiled gratefully, happy to be moved out of the sight of the other patrons, and nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you,” you murmured, accepting the menu and following her to a table near the back. She’d obviously noted your discomfort.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to decide what you’d like, and if I’m busy, I’ll send Raeven to take care of you,” she said, giving you a little curtsey and a charming wink before walking away.

Your cheeks flared up with a slight blush at the gesture, and you cleared your throat, dropping your gaze down to the menu. You’d been to Lucky’s before; a quaint little cafe a few blocks away from your London apartment, it had been a fan favourite amongst your small group of friends. Anytime you guys met up for an afternoon, Lucky’s was the place you hung out at before and after every event, it was where you celebrated little victories, like getting a promotion, winning the gaming competition (which was really Gibson and Iris’ thing, but you all supported them anyway), and finally succeeding in making a decent casserole. Your group of friends was small, but it meant the world to you, even if more than half of them were halfway across the world right now; online friends were the greatest, in your opinion.

Speaking of the devil, just as you had decided what you wanted - a simple chai tea latte - your phone exploded with the usual vibrations which meant the triplets, Iris, Caelen, and Sylvia, were awake and active. Smiling, you pulled your phone out of your pocket to check your group chat.

The first thing you saw was a picture Caelen had taken of the three of them, with Caelen looking to be the first one fully awake. Iris was frowning with a toothbrush in her mouth, giving the camera the middle finger, and Sylvia was staring absentmindedly across the room from her bunk bed, her hair an absolute disaster. Caelen was smiling and posing with the all too iconic peace sign. The caption read; “ _ GM frm Washington! _ ”

You held back a chuckle, fondly letting your gaze rest on the image. You missed the triplets, ever since they’d moved to America with their aunt, things had been a lot more quiet around here. They’d been the ones who came up with the nicknames in the chat; you were “Bee” because you were “as sweet as honey”, Gibson was “Hacker” because he worked in database security for his father’s company and knew the ins and outs of pretty much every corporate database out there, Sylvia was “Baby” because she was the most innocent out of the group, which was surprising because she lived with Caelen, “MB” (short for Mama Bear), and Iris “PB” (short for Papa Bear), who were both known to use strings of expletives whenever something even remotely negative happened. 

**BEE: Good afternoon, lovelies! Is Syl gonna be okay? She looks like she needs some coffee…**

**MB: Y, she’s fine. Had a lng nght**

**PB: FFS, MB, we BOTH did! Stp banging ur fwb in the opp room!**

**BEE: Sheesh, should I go? Do you two need some space? ;)**

**HACKER: God u 3 woke me up! I had 2 pull an allnter 4 my dad. Some ff broke my firewalls & cracked evrythng wide open**

**BABY: On behalf of my sisters, I apologise. Is everything going to be alright, Gibson?**

You were surprised to see Sylvia joining in the messages, she’d looked so zonked in the photo Caelen had sent that you’d expected her to be offline for the next hour or so.

**HACKER: Y, evrythng should b fine. I think I fixed it all. Dad was P.O’ed, tho.**

**BEE: I can make him some of my famous banoffee pie and bring it by the office after my interview if it helps.**

**MB: U got the interview??**

**PB: WTF y ddnt u tell us!!!**

**BABY: Congratulations, Briallen! I’m sure you’ll do great! Charm their socks off!**

**HACKER: Congrats! Soon u’ll b makng more thn me!**

You chuckled and shook your head as the chat slowly devolved into its usual state. As you watched the messages jump up the screen, you thought back to what had brought you all together. As nerdy as it sounded, you were all major geeks and each a fan of the once mighty Overwatch. Everything had started from a theory board, moved to Instaphoto messages, then to texts, then finally you’d all met in person, right here in Lucky’s. The triplets had lived a lot closer than Washington D.C, USA, in fact, it turned out they had lived in the same apartment building you did currently. Gibson lived a bit further off, in Westminster, but still close enough that the transport from there to Lucky’s wasn’t very expensive. Everyone had lost their minds when they heard you’d been saved by  _ the _ Dr. Angela Ziegler - you were pretty sure Gibson had a shrine to her somewhere in his house -, and you’d sat around a table near the fireplace just sharing stories and getting to know each other. 

“I’m back! So, have you settled on what you want or do I need to give you more time?”

You looked up from your phone screen to see Honey smiling down at you again, a pen and little notepad in hand. Her presence wasn’t exactly nerve-wracking for you, but she did have a personable aura about her that your suddenly shier side battled with.

“Uh, y-yes, just a tai chee latte, I mean, a chai tea latte for me, thanks,” you managed, forcing a small smile as you brushed your bangs back. ‘ _ Get it together, Bri. You can’t be this awkward when Mr. Jones gets here, you definitely won’t get the job then. _ ’

Honey giggled and nodded, writing your order down. “Hot or cold, love?”

“Hot, please.”

“Alright! I’ll be back with that in a few minutes. Anything else?” she asked, her smile unfading.

“No, that’s all.” 

She nodded again and tucked the pen behind her ear before quite literally sashaying away to take someone else’s order. You felt the blood in your cheeks rise and you swallowed heavily, trying to shake it off. It wasn’t often that you had someone so blatantly flirt with you, but it was a bit jarring each time. You needed moral support for this.

Picking up your phone, you glanced through the messages and asked for help, all of which your friends tried to give you was little to no help at all. They really were great friends.

Half an hour, three lattes, and one piece of cake later, and there was still no Mr. Jones. Honey had upped her charm, loosened up a bit with you, joked a bit, even gave you the cake on the house. All you were waiting for was the bill with her number written on it. That and Mr. Jones. You were starting to get worried. Did something happen? Was he in an accident? Did you have the wrong cafe? What if this was just a prank? Your phone chirruped with a notification and you hastily picked it up, hoping it would help you understand what was going on. 

It didn’t.

It was a message from an unknown number, short and simple:  **The interview is a trap. Get out while you still can.**

Panic flooded your system with adrenaline, your mind whirling as your heartbeat sped up. What did that mean? A trap? Well, you certainly couldn’t leave now, not without paying. You looked up, hoping to see Honey somewhere nearby, but, for the first time that evening, she was out of your field of sight, as well as any other server you’d seen that afternoon. What was going on?

You gripped your phone tightly, watching as a man at the table next to yours, stood. He’d been sitting alone since before you came in, sipping the same cup of coffee that was most likely ice cold by now. Your pulse pounded in your ears as he reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol. Three shots into the air was all it took to send people into a panic, running screaming out the door. The only people that remained were a few other patrons who had sat calmly until everyone else had filed out, and yourself.

“Burza, get the door,” the man said, his voice heavy and thick with a Midlands accent. His smile made your skin crawl as he turned to look back at you, something wicked in his eyes. “You’re a brave little thing, aren’t you?”

You swore you felt your phone case crack under the pressure of your grip, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from his to see if it had. You felt oddly calm with only an undertone of panic, and the adrenaline coursed through your body as you tensed, ready to leap if the moment presented itself.

The man laughed, a dark sound that was grating to your ears. “Look at you, so coiled up and ready to strike.” He walked around, brushing the muzzle of the gun across your cheek. “Won’t do you much good, though,” he whispered, leaning down to press his nose into your hair, chuckling darkly. “You make one sudden movement and my boys will have you riddled with holes.”

One of the “patrons” cleared her throat, glaring over at the man.

He simply chuckled again, standing up. “And my girls as well. Can’t forget the lovely ladies now, can we?” 

“Of course you can’t, that’d be sexist,” you said blithely, eyes following him as he paced a circle around your table. ‘ _ What the fuck are you doing?? Don’t antagonise the man with the gun! _ ’

“Ooh, she’s got a mouth on her, eh? Well, then why don’t we make her talk, hmm? Tell me, girlie,” he said, pulling out the chair on the other side of your table, his pistol still aimed at you. “What do you know about Overwatch?”

You couldn’t help but snort softly, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what this is about? I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong person, sir. I’ve no connections to-”

He tipped the pistol up and the bullet grazed your ear, making you freeze, suddenly realising the situation. This man wouldn’t hesitate to kill you. One false move and you’d be dead in a heartbeat. You were treading on eggshells now. 

“Th-They are, er, were an organisation created during the Omnic crisis to help defeat the omnics. After the crisis, they continued helping the world until Blackwatch became part of public knowledge and the outcry caused the government to issue the Petras act, which shutdown the organisation and any later resurgence,” you spouted, ignoring the pain in your left ear. “Other than that, I know nothing.” ‘ _ Liar. You know they’re coming back, albeit quietly. Why are you lying to him? Why put your life in danger to keep that knowledge a secret? _ ’

“So, if I were to ask you why you were here, you wouldn’t say it’s for an interview with an agent of Overwatch for their open assistant position?” he asked, making your heart beat faster with fear.

“N-No, sir, I’m just here for an-”’ _ Wait… that number was privated this morning… I wasn’t told what Mr. Jones would look like… What did I sign up for?’ _

He grinned slyly, tilting the gun a bit as he met your gaze. “Interview, perhaps? Where are they located?”

“What- I don’t, I have no idea what you’re talking about-” you gritted your teeth as another bullet grazed your arm, sinking into the wall behind you. Lucky’s was going to have some big repairs to make if this kept up. 

“Who was coming to meet you?”

“I-I don’t know. A Mr. Jones, I’ve never met him. That was all I was told,” you said, squeezing your phone again. The case was definitely cracked, you could feel the plastic edge digging into your fingers, any more force in your grip and you’d have blood trickling down your arm.

“I’ll give you one more chance, Ms. Marsh, who was coming to meet you?”

Your phone rang, the same tone from this morning, and you looked down to see the name was “Answer Me”. ‘ _ Is that… is that them? I have to know… _ ’

“Who is that?” the man asked, frowning, a dangerous look given your circumstances.

“My mum,” you answered without hesitation, pulling your best poker face. “Please, if I don’t answer it, she’ll get worried. I promise I’ll answer all your questions truthfully, just let me talk to my mum one more time.” You turned your eyes up to him, pleading and biting your lip nervously.

It took a couple precious seconds, but he grunted and gestured to the phone with the gun. “Answer it. Five minutes.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you picked up the call and nearly smashed the phone against your cheek. “Hi, mum!” you forced yourself to sound cheery, carefully watching the armed man across the table.

“Yer still in the cafe, ain’t ya?” the voice that answered had a nice American southern drawl to it, making you smile softly. You knew exactly who this was. This was Overwatch. “They listenin’ in?”

“Yes, mum, I’m still in the cafe. I just got done with the interview, I think I did pretty good. They said they’d contact me again, could possibly be a letter addressed to me,” you answered, praying to god that he understood what you meant. You couldn’t exactly answer his questions with the man listening to your side of the conversation. “How archaic is that?”

“A letter, darlin’? Now that is very archaic,” the cowboy on the line chuckled, surprisingly jovial given the situation. “How many are in the buildin’, sweetpea?”

You had to stop yourself from raising an eyebrow as you let your eyes wander over to the people standing guard; one in the front, two in the back, and one next to you and the man who had nearly shot you twice. ‘ _ Does he always talk like this?... Fuck, okay, five. Uh, how do I communicate that without giving this away? _ ’ “Yeah, I know, right? Nobody sends letters anymore. Anyway I think the interviewer was flirting with me, he commented on how pretty I looked at least five times. It must be my outfit because my waitress did the same and everyone was looking at me when I walked in, got up to go to the bathroom at the back of the cafe, and I swear there was even a man watching me while I sat here!”

The man with the gun snorted, scowling a bit. “You wish, sweetheart,” he murmured, flicking the gun a bit. “Two minutes.”

“Five? Really? Huh, thought they’d go all out for this one, ‘specially if so many people were flirtin’ with ya, sugar,” he chuckled, you could hear the smile on his face, even when it faded. “Alright, listen’ here, darlin’, don’t do nuthin’ erratic. Everythin’s gonna be alright, ya hear? Jus’ keep distractin’em while I break open the back door. I’ll see ya in a few, darlin’.”

The line went dead and you cursed mentally, quickly finishing up the one-sided conversation just to keep up the act a little longer. You finished with an exuberant amount of “I love you”s before you finally “hung up” the phone with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, my mum’s a little clingy. Helicopter parent, you know?” 

“Whatever, just answer my question, who-” he jumped at a small explosion from the back of the building and the sound of gunfire, his finger slipping on the trigger and sending a bullet into your arm. His face was red with fury when he looked back at you. “You sneaky little bitch! Richards, Shirley! Go take care of that!” he shouted, turning his gaze away for a second.

Without thinking, you sprung into action, flipping the table over and tackling the woman next to you. You wrestled on the ground with her for a few seconds, but your surprise attack had caught her off guard, which made it easier to rip the semiautomatic from her hands. 

The man who had shot you let out a furious cry, pushing himself up from off the ground and leveling his gun with your head. “You’re dead, bitch.”

“No, you,” you said, voice clipped as you wasted no time in letting a few rounds rip through him before he could pull the trigger. Your breathing was hard, yet steady as you watched him fall, not necessarily dead, but definitely dying, his pistol skittering across the ground. Pushing yourself up, you snatched up the pistol before the girl could get to it. As you turned, she let out a feral scream and leapt at you, managing to slice open your shoulder with the knife in her hand. Unfortunately for her, the movement put her stomach against the muzzle of the rifle and your reflexes had you squeeze the trigger. She was definitely dead.

Blood splattered your arms and face, ruining both your makeup and your blouse, which, disturbingly enough, was the thing that you were most upset with. You’d just killed two people, went full on fucking combat mode on them, and you were worried about how you looked? You dropped the guns almost as soon as Jesse McCree stepped into view, his eyes wide.

Your gazes met, and you could have sworn in that moment you’d never seen a prettier pair of eyes on a guy. No, that was a lie, you’d seen the old Jack Morrison posters, but goddamn. Had it not been for the fact that you’d seen quite a few pictures of him, you wouldn’t have recognised him without his usual cowboy getup and signature beard. He was dressed in what appeared to be something more along the lines of normal civilian wear, a pair of slacks and a rather nice looking, yet blood splattered, suit. He looked nice, even if a bit feral.

“Hey there, cowboy,” you croaked, smiling a bit. “You’re late.”

He stared at you, wide-eyed for a second, before pointing at the bodies near your feet. “Did you do this?”

You cringed a bit. “Uh, yeah. Self… Self-defense. The fat one would have killed me had I not done something. Didn’t mean for it to go this far…” You reached up to rub the back of your neck and hissed as pain ripped through your arm. Oh, yeah, you’d forgotten you’d actually gotten shot. And stabbed. Endorphins and shock can be wonderful at times.

He frowned and made his way over to you in a few strides, gently gripping your arm to inspect it. “Damn, an’ here I was hopin’ t’get you outta here unharmed. There goes that dream, I s’ppose.”

Your head reeled with the scent of whiskey and cigars that came with him, and his warmth made you want to press yourself against him. Thankfully, you were in a right enough mind not to do so, and you just watched as he gently wrapped it up in some fabric he ripped from his suit shirt. 

“Well, I had a dream of getting an interview and landing a job today, so I guess we were both disappointed,” you quipped softly, the moment not quite sinking in yet. “And you’re lucky, if you had come in any earlier and I hadn’t dropped the guns, you might be dead where you stood.”

He looked up at you, confusion dancing through his hazel eyes before he laughed, a deep rolling thunder that made you smile even as your arm throbbed. “Wow, you are a hoot. Alright, let’s getcha somewhere more secure, sweetpea. The monkey’s dyin’ t’see ya.”

‘ _ The monkey? That must be Winston.. _ ’ “I… have a name, you know,” you said, watching him go retrieve your phone and jacket, your eyes meeting his again as he placed the jacket over your shoulders. 

He smiled, a slightly crooked grin that made your heart flutter involuntarily in your chest. “Yeah? Is it as pretty as you are?”

You flushed and looked away, playing with your fingers. This cowboy… no, cow _ man _ was certainly going to be interesting to work with, if you got the job, of course. “I don’t know, maybe you could tell me if it is. It’s Briallen. Briallen Marsh,” you glanced up to see him watching you, his hand never leaving your shoulder. 

“Well, it certainly is pretty. A pretty name for an even prettier woman,” he mused, handing you your phone before going to lead you out the back of the building. His hand was warm where it rested, dangerously close to your neck.

You still had a while before the adrenaline faded and everything that had happened finally settled in your mind.


	3. Swarming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone to the SUPER AMAZING CHAPTER THREE END CARD TOURNAMENT! Nah, I'm just pulling your leg! But, it is the super amazing chapter three and that's cool too! It's really awesome that you guys have stuck with me this far and I hope you'll continue to do the same so we can all see this story to the end together! It'll be like a group adventure!
> 
> Anyway, don't forget to cast your vote in our Mediocre Matchmaking service to pair Bee up with someone. I still need your help choosing, so I hope you'll stop by and vote! http://pollmaker.vote/p/FZ9PH44P
> 
> I'll see you all at the end! Have fun!

“ _ No way!! _ ” Gibson leaned in close to his camera as you flopped back onto your bed, letting your wet hair fall in strands around your shoulders. “ _ There is no way in hell that OVERWATCH asked you to be an assistant for them! _ ”

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to look at your laptop monitor. Gibson’s face took up the entire screen, as he was close enough to his camera that you could practically see up his nostrils. “Gib, stop inhaling your webcam and listen to me. You can’t tell the triplets, okay? I know Caelen and how “supportive” she can be, the moment she finds out, she’s going to be posting this everywhere and then the second fall of Overwatch will be all because of me, and I can’t have that on my conscience.”

Gibson sat back, adjusting his glasses. In a lot of ways, he resembled the friendly gorilla you’d met only a few hours earlier; same rounded oblong face, same curious amber eyes (though Gibson’s eyes were more of a hazel-green combination), same ear-to-ear grin, same joviality, just… they were way too similar for it to not be an overused fanfiction cliche. Though, with all these similarities, the chubby 5’1” Brit felt the more real out of the two, and real was what you needed right now. Gibson had been your tether ever since the day he’d invited you to join himself and the triplets for pizza and B-movies during your first year in England. Always quick with advice and willing to offer a helping hand, he’d been your best friend since you’d met him, and talking with him always cleared your mind.

“ _ I still can’t believe it. You met  _ the _ Jesse McCree? What was it like? What did he say? What did he smell like?? _ ” His eyes were still glittering excitedly, his body nearly dancing in his chair. “ _ And what about Dr. Ziegler? What was she like? Did it hurt at all? How does that biotic emitter work? _ ”

Sighing, you covered your eyes with an arm, turning away from the screen. “Gib, I’m not answering any of your questions until you give me your word that you won’t tell the triplets.”

“ _ Alright, alright, you have my word! Now, tell me everything about your encounter with the beautiful Swiss angel!! _ ” 

“God, Gib, you are such a fanboy. There isn’t much to say about it, I mean, it felt pretty normal, like she’d done it hundreds of times. Of course, I was an awkward mess, I could hardly get out the words “thank you” without stumbling over my own tongue.” You closed your eyes and dropped your arm, thinking back over the past couple hours. After Angela had finished stitching you up and you’d accepted the job offer, Winston had said his goodbyes, the doctor had given you a couple biotic emitters (thick little disk things that glowed with a soft golden light once you turned it on), and you’d been shuffled home. The ride was silent, the man, who had been one of the people working on reports, glancing over at you a few times and opening his mouth, but failing to say anything. That had been fine with you, you still had so much to process.

Euripides had been happy to see you home, even if you were slightly bloody and tired, and in serious need of a shower. He’d rubbed up against your legs and purred loudly as he followed you around the house, begging for pets whenever he could. 

The shower you’d taken to clean the blood and everything off of your body gave you some time to think about everything that had happened and to analyse exactly how you felt about it. You were… surprisingly excited; it wasn’t everyday that a normal city girl got to take down a bad guy, get so close to a hot superhero, or meet their idol all within the span of a couple hours. Not only that, but Winston had  _ asked _ you to join, specifically  _ asked _ . Overwatch wanted you as an assistant, and you were over the moon about it. So over the moon that you’d needed to get it off your chest, and Gibson, being the most reliable out of your friends, was the first and only person that came to mind.

“ _ Hellooo! Earth to Bee!! Did you space out on me or has your piece-of-shite laptop finally died? I keep telling you that you need to upgrade! _ ” Gibson snapped you out of your quiet dive into your thoughts a while later, chuckling when you jerked up. 

“Shut up, asshat,” you scowled, sitting up and glaring at your webcam. “Sure, she may be a bit slow and, yeah, maybe her graphics aren’t that great, but Cherry still works just fine for me. I don’t need to upgrade to those stupid semi-holographic laptops they have now.” Your nose wrinkled at both the idea and the price. It cost a lot to be completely tech-chic. Glancing at the time, you realised you and Gibson had talked for hours and you needed to eat something more substantial than cake. Not to mention your show was scheduled to come on in the next half an hour.

“Look, Gib, I gotta go. Thanks for listening to me and promising not to tell anyone. Especially since this might be the last time I get to speak openly with you,” you sighed, offering him a sad smile. “I’ll talk to you soon if I don’t have to disappear. See ya later, Gibs.”

You closed the laptop lid before letting him say goodbye, something about the whole situation particularly sorrowful for you. This job, working for Overwatch, could possibly cost you everything you’d come to love in the five known years of your life. Would it be worth it? Could you go through with this? You looked down to Piddie who had taken a nap by your feet, and, suddenly, you knew. 

Yes, you would be able to do this. Because Overwatch was created for the sole purpose of making the world a better place. You’d be helping them save lives, so many lives that were worth so much more than your own. If doing that meant losing your friends, so be it. Yeah, it may hurt, but, in the end, people out there were hurting a lot more than you. 

  
  


It took a week for Winston to give you another call, this time to let you know your application had gone through and that he’d be sending some people with moving trucks to help you get all your stuff moved over to the compound. In the meantime, you’d already paid your landlord in advance and begun packing up all of your belongings. All there was to do now was to finish off the bit of food left in your pantry and move all of the boxes and furniture out of the apartment. Then, the next step of your life could really begin.

You stood in the living room, holding Piddie in your arms as you surveyed the landscape around you; where once sat your old movie collection now sat a pile of cardboard boxes, each labeled according to their contents. Your wall decorations were gone, as was your favourite hanging basket chair, each having been tucked away in a box of their own. The place seemed desolate and barren, making your heart ache. You’d only been in this apartment for three years, but it was still your home. You could tell the story of every stain on the floor, every nick in the wall. Every spot in this apartment held memories for you, and now you were leaving it all behind. 

‘ _ It’s for the greater good, though, Bri, remember that, _ ’ you thought, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, trying to block out the pain. Almost as soon as you opened your eyes again, there was a knock at the door - the all too familiar shave and a haircut - and you knew the company you’d been expecting had arrived. 

“Try to stay out of the way, Piddie,” you said, setting the cat down and going to quickly answer the door. You couldn’t help but smile when a pair of familiar, jovial hazel eyes met yours.

“Well, howdy there, missy,” he chuckled, tipping back his hat to see you better. “Didn’t expect t’see you here. Y’come here often?”

His dorky smile and wink made you giggle and you pulled away from the door, letting him and his companion in. “I should hope so, I live here after all,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Come in, I, uh, I don’t have much to eat if you want something, but, I can make some tea, if you’d like.”

“McCree, move your ass and let me in! I vant to see ze new recruit! Ah! Zere she is!” Strong arms wrapped around your small frame and pulled you off the ground, cracking your back. The scent of chocolate and metal invaded your nostrils as the woman pulled you into her chest and gave you a light squeeze before setting you down again. “It hard to believe such tiny little zing is kausing such kommotion back at headquarters. Tell me, small child, how often do you visit gym?”

You stumbled as the woman placed you on your feet, a little disorientated and taking a second to get your bearings back. The Russian woman who stood in your doorway was nearly three times your size in muscle and at least a foot taller than you, an imposing figure which made you feel quite inferior just being in her presence. If it weren’t for the large grin on her face or the friendly twinkle in her eyes, you would probably be peeing your pants in fear.

“I, uh, what?” you managed, taking an unconscious step back. “N-Not very often. I n-never really had a need to, I, um, I’m not a very active person…”

The woman raised an eyebrow and her smile grew a bit as she cocked her head. “No need to? Nonsense! Zere is alvays reason to visit gym. Exercise, boredom, vorking out your anger or frustration! Alvays reason! How much kan you lift?”

“Um, I-I don’t know, maybe… Maybe, I don’t know, fifty pounds?” You rubbed your arm, looking away. ‘ _ She must be really into personal fitness… I never really saw the appeal of a gym; all those people staring at me, judging me… No thanks. _ ’

“Fifty pounds is good start. Ve kan get you up to one hundred in no time if ve start tonight. I kannot vait to see vat you kan do, small child,” she said in response, clapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Alright, I think ya spooked ‘er enough, Zarya,” McCree chuckled, scratching his chin and placing a hand on the woman’s arm. “Ms. Marsh ain’t gonna need no fancy weight trainin’ or the like. She’s gon be workin’ at a desk with the monkey. Come on, let’s get to workin’ so we can get ‘er settled in asap.” He offered you a smile as Zarya pulled away with a grunt, going to pick up one of the boxes. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, smiling a bit in relief as you rubbed your arm again.

“It ain’t no trouble. I know how intimidatin’ she can be sometimes. She means well, even if she comes on a bit strong,” he said, chuckling a bit. “By the way, you look pretty with yer hair down like that. You should wear it down more often.” 

You blushed and immediately shoved a strand behind your ear, looking away. “Would y-either of you like some tea or something to drink?”

Zarya’s head poked out from behind the box she was carrying towards the door, her eyes sparkling with interest. “Do you have vodka?”

“Ah, no, sorry. I’m not a big drinker,” you said, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers.

Her face fell a bit and she sighed, “Vater is fine,” before walking out the door to take the box to the van.

McCree laughed and shook his head. “Jus’ some water for me too, darlin’. Thank you.”

You nodded and scurried off to the kitchen where you had plastic cups to use instead of glass as it'd all been packed away. By the time you came back with the two cups of water, both agents were gone, as were some of your boxes. They worked quickly.

Sighing, you set the cups down on the counter where they could see them, and made your way over to the sliding balcony door. The glass was cold where it pressed against your skin, your body heat fogging it up a bit. The view from up here had always been gorgeous, a perfect view of Nursery Row Park, whose leaves glowed a pretty amber this time of year. 

‘ _ I'm going to miss this view… _ ’ you thought, placing the pads of your fingers on the cool glass. You couldn't open the door - one of the rollers at the bottom had gotten wedged your first year here and you just never had it fixed -, and even if you could, you wouldn't. It had gotten chillier since you went out for that interview, and right now, you were wearing nothing but a sunflower-print t-shirt and a pair of jeans. 

Looking down, you caught sight of McCree lifting a box into the van, and you bit your lip, your chest aching a bit. ‘ _ I feel so useless… I want to help, but I feel like I would just get in the way… _ ’

“Ah, who is zis little fellow?” Came Zarya's gasp from the door as she stepped back into the apartment. She strode up quickly to the box Euripides had settles on, beaming when he didn't scurry away, and bent down to pet him. “And where is your tail, malen'kiy voin?”

You chuckled, a little surprised to see the gentleness with which the large Russian stroked your cat. “His name is Euripides, and he's my roomate. I've had him ever since he was a kitten.”

“His fur very soft and beautiful. Perfect kompanion for one who not very active.” Her smile grew larger as he started purring loudly, rubbing his face against her fingers. “Does he hunt?”

You shook your head, turning to press your back against the glass. “No. He's a lazy asshole. It's hard to get him to move sometimes when I vacuum.”

Zarya laughed, scratching Piddie's chin. “He vill enjoy life in kompound, zen. Plenty of place to take nice, varm naps.” Her green gaze suddenly turned to you as she cocked her head. You couldn't identify the look in them, just a bit too far out of your social knowledge, but you thought you could detect a bit of curious laughter in their depths. “You talk so easily about him, much easier zan you talk about yourself. Konfidence looks good on you.”

You blushed, jumping away from the door as if it had shocked you. “I-I, um-”

“Nearly halfway there,” McCree mused, striding into the living room and lighting a cigar. “This’ll be over faster than I thought.”

You flinched at the sight of the cigar’s smoke, panic flaring in your chest. ‘ _ Ms. Sheppard has a strict no smoking policy… _ ’ “Um, M-McCree, if you could, I mean, I-I don't mean to be rude, but, um, but… But you-you can't, um-”

“McCree.” Zarya stood up and made her way over to him within a second, startling both you and the cowboy. She grasped the lit cigar between her thumb and forefinger, extinguishing the flame, and tugged it out from between his lips. “Did you ask if Marsh vas komfortable wiz zis?”

His eyes widened and he looked over at you. “U-Uh, no, I-” 

“Ve are guest in her home. Don’t be rude,” the Russian said, tossing the cigar into the trash.

“I-It’s not that I have a problem with it,” you murmured, rubbing your arm as you tilted your head to hide behind your bangs. “Ms… Ms. Sheppard just has a strict no smoking policy… She doesn’t want her walls or, or her ceilings ruined.”

McCree smiled a bit and nodded, his brows furrowed. “O’ course. My ‘pologies. I didn’t know.”

The rest of the task went smoothly and soon Zarya was helping McCree move the couch, the last piece of furniture, out toward one of the trucks, leaving you standing alone in the living room. You studied the quiet emptiness around you, suddenly feeling tearful and nostalgic.

‘ _ That was where I tried my first shot of tequila. Gibson said I looked about ready to throw up the moment it touched my tongue. _ ’ The memory brought a sad smile to your lips and a whisper of a chuckle escaped your throat. ‘ _ And that… that was where the triplets and I had our first sleepover. Until that night, I would’ve never guessed that Sylvia was ace… That’s where I tripped over Piddie and spilt tea on the carpet. I never could get that stain out, no matter how hard I tried… And there… _ ’ Your gaze drifted around the barren landscape, brimming with tears as you recollected the three years of memories this place held for you. You were leaving everything behind, had to; you sure as hell didn’t want to be hunted down by Arachnid. Even McCree had warned you about them, and you trusted him with everything you could right now. If you couldn’t trust Overwatch, who could you trust? Well, the one thing you knew for sure was that you were going to miss this place.

“Everythin’ alright in here, darlin’?” McCree asked, coming up behind you and placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’re ready to head out whenever you are.”

You sniffed, quickly wiping away your tears and nodding. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Just… saying goodbye. It, uh, it isn’t easy leaving everything behind, you know?”

He smiled sadly, squeezing your shoulder where he held it. “Yeah, I know. D’ya need a couple minutes?”

“No.” You shook your head, pulling out of his grip as you bent down to scoop Euripides up into your arms. “No, I’m fine. You said you guys were ready to go?”

McCree nodded.

“Then, let’s go. Don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”

 

Zarya insisted you ride with her, a strange request seeing as she didn’t quite know you very well yet, but you humoured her, partly because she scared you a bit. She seemed thrilled when you agreed and looked almost a moment away from throwing you into the truck before you’d have a chance to scramble in yourself. Luckily, though, she didn’t, and you were spared the bruises that would have come from such an occasion. 

The ride was silent for a while - maybe ten minutes or so - before she turned on the radio. She fiddled with it for a couple seconds until she settled on a station dedicated to old classic rock from before you were born.

‘ _ “Here Comes the Sun”? _ ’ you thought, smiling a bit as you watched the city pass by your window. ‘ _ How fitting _ .’ Relaxing, you quietly hummed along, petting Piddie’s head. It wasn’t until near the end of the song when you passed under a bridge that you caught Zarya’s reflection in the window; she was glancing over at you, a huge grin on her face. Blushing, you immediately shut up and avoided meeting her gaze.

She chuckled. “So, you are fan of Beatles?”

You ran your fingers through your bangs, embarrassed to be caught. “Uh, yeah. Love the Beatles. Cla-Classic rock as a whole, really. The, um, Americans had some-some really good bands.”

She grunted in response, still grinning, and went quiet for a few seconds before speaking up again. “You have lovely voice, sing often?”

Your blush deepened and you hesitated; you really kept your singing to yourself, and only really sang in front of others when you were drunk enough not to care. You didn’t like sharing it with others, too afraid of what they might say, and too ashamed of it, especially after your ex had told you to “Stop even trying. You sound like a dying cat.”.

“I, um,” you bit your lip and shook your head. “N-No, not really…”

“Vell, zen I am honoured to hear it,” she responded, glancing over at you before looking back out at the road.

You shook your head, fiddling with your fingers. “Don’t be… there really isn’t-”

“Ooh! Zis great song!” she exclaimed, turning the radio up and smiling broadly. “ _ You show us everyzing you’ve got/ You keep on dancing and ze room gets hot/ You drive us vild, ve’ll drive you crazy! _ ”

You held back a chuckle, listening as she sang heartily along, her voice cheery and powerful. It was clear she was no professional singer, but she still sounded good, and it made you think; why shouldn’t you sing in front of others? Zarya had already said she thought you had a pretty voice, why not sing again? There was no harm in it.

Drawing in a bit of courage, you waited quietly until the next verse and joined in, softly at first, but letting your voice grow as you sank into the music. “ _ You keep on saying you’ll be mine for a while/ You’re lookin’ fancy, and I like your style/ You drive us wild, we’ll drive you crazy! _ ”

Zarya beamed, laughing. “Da! Zat’s it, myshka!”

You two finished the song together, and by the end, you were smiling and laughing. Your throat was dry, but it was well worth it to break out of your shell for a little while. 

The larger Russian woman reached over and clapped you on the back, nearly knocking you over. “I like you, myshka. You are good voman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatcha think? Did you enjoy it? I hope so, I've been working really hard on this. Don't be afraid to leave a comment or message me on Tumblr @candiedgears if you think there's something I could change, a plot twist I could slip in there, or if you have suggestions on how to better portray a character! I promise, I don't bite and I'm pretty much as pacifistic as our dear Mercy is. I'd love to hear what you all think of this as it'll help me better develop this story into something everyone can enjoy!
> 
> Don't forget to cast your vote in our Mediocre Matchmaking service! I'm leaving it open probably until the end of July, maybe beginning of August, so you have plenty of time to get your vote in! http://pollmaker.vote/p/FZ9PH44P
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> I can't wait to see y'all in the next installment! Toodle-loo!


	4. Droning On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you've noticed by now that all of my chapter titles are some kind of bee pun and I have only one thing to say about that; I will not apologise. I will take responsibility for my actions, but I will not apologise. 
> 
> I hope you've all enjoyed the story thus far, and I do look forward to your responses! Believe it or not, this story will be heavily driven by all of you! So your input is very valuable to me. I'm taking chapter requests, plot suggestions, anything and everything you guys throw at me will be taken in and processed for evaluation. Haha, no, they aren't going to be evaluated, but I will take them to heart. An artist can only improve so much without outside help, and that's exactly what you guys are to me, so, please, leave a comment, your kudos, email me, or message me directly on Tumblr @candiedgears. I promise, your voice will be heard.
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_ “ _ **_Morrigan… Morrigan… Morrigan, my child, wake up. There is much to do… We must get started soon._ ** _ ” _

 

“Ms. Marsh? Ms. Marsh, it's time to wake up,” the honeyed voice startled you awake and you shot up, panting.

Your pulse pounded in your chest and cold sweat dripped down the back of your neck. ‘ _ Where am I? What's going on? _ ’ Looking up, you met a pair of worried cerulean eyes, felt fingertips brush against your arms. A familiar camphor-and-tea scent washed over you, and you relaxed.

“Is everything alright, dear?” Angela asked, sitting down on the couch next to you. She raised her forearm, pressing the inside of her wrist against your forehead with a frown. “You were muttering and shaking in your sleep, and you looked rather pale.”

You blinked a couple times, trying to remember your dream, or whatever had caused you to wake up in such a distressed state. However, you just couldn't recall anything; your mind was completely blank. “Y-Yeah, I'm fine,” you said, letting Angela do her thing as you looked around, observing your surroundings.

You obviously weren't in the moving truck anymore (you must have fallen asleep without realising it), and instead were seated on a rather plush, royal blue couch inside what appeared to be an office. Dark oak furniture and flooring gave the room a cosy, yet professional feel, and the warm light from the track lighting tracing the edge of the ceiling helped make it feel more welcoming. The walls, white except for the bottom half, which had been painted a darker royal blue to match the upholstery, sported towering bookshelves, filing cabinets, and picture frames, from which, smiling faces looked down on you. You didn't recognise some of them, but there were three which had familiar faces you could connect names to; one was a well-known image of the original Overwatch Strike team - Jack Morrison, Ana Amari, Reinhardt Wilhelm, Torbjorn Lindholm, and Gabriel Reyes -, the second was of the post-Omnic Crisis members - Dr. Angela Ziegler, Winston, Lena Oxton, Mei-Ling Zhou, Gérard Lacroix, and the strike team members -, and the third was a rather personal picture of Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes during their SEP days. They seemed happy, and the way Gabriel was looking at Jack…

“Where am I?” you asked, drawing your attention away from the room, “and why do all of these pictures have Mr. Morrison in them?”

“That would be because this is his office,” a gruff voice responded, alerting you to the presence of another figure in the room. The man sat tall behind the desk behind you, a direction you had yet to look. A mask covered his lower face and a visor sat over his eyes, yet, you knew immediately who it was.

“Soldier: 76,” you whispered, eyes wide with awestruck wonder as you turned your body towards him, unable to tear your gaze away from the white haired man who appraised you. “I've read about you in the papers, but I never thought I'd actually meet you in person. You're with Overwatch?”

Angela snorted, quickly covering her mouth as you both looked over at her. “S-Sorry. Ms. Marsh, you seem to be fine, so I'll take my leave. I will need you to drop by my office later so I can perform a routine medical exam for your file.” She stood and turned to leave.

“Thank you, Angela,” the old soldier called after her, nodding as she left, leaving you alone with him. “Am I with Overwatch?” he echoed, chuckling as he folded his hands on the desk. “I suppose you could say that. Truthfully, I never really left, not at my heart. But, that's beside the point. I want to talk about you, Ms. Marsh. I've heard quite some tales from Angela and McCree about you. That was very brave of you, standing up to Roy Adams like that.”

You fidgeted, uncomfortable with his gaze on you. “Um, y-yeah, I suppose it was…”

“Why?” he asked, leaning back in his seat.

Your brows furrowed. “S-Sir?”

“Why did you do it? Did you know it was us from the beginning? Why risk your life to get the information to McCree before you'd even known it was him?”

Ah. So this was an interrogation. Great. 

‘ _ Don’t blow this, Briallen… _ ’ You shook your head. “I-I don't know, sir. No, I did-didn't know it was you from the-the beginning… You see, sir, I’m a-a big, um, a big nerd, so to speak, and when-when they mentioned Overwatch and-and I got that call, well, I figured, er,  _ hoped _ that it would be you… I also, um, I’m huge fan of Overwatch, so-so once I heard Mr. McCree’s voice, I-I knew it was you…”

The soldier let out a sigh and slouched in his seat a bit, unfolding his hands. While you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the gentle smile in his voice. “Easy, soldier. There’s no need to be so nervous around me. Take some time to think about what you’re going to say and then say it, no need to rush.”

Your eyes widened and you cleared your throat, looking away. You hadn’t realised you’d been stuttering, or how nervous you were; you’re hands were shaking badly and your heart trembled in your chest. ‘ _ Alright, calm down, Briallen. Just, deep breath… _ ’ Closing your eyes, you took a second to compose yourself, taking in a deep breath through your nose and letting it out through your mouth before looking back up at him. 

“As to why I risked my life to get the information to Mr. McCree…” you continued, your gaze drifted as you thought, landing on a picture of Jack Morrison amidst a group of people, all of which looked very similar to him. His family, no doubt. ‘ _ They must have suffered more than the rest of the world when Mr. Morrison died… He had to have meant a lot to them. _ ’ 

“I… There are a lot of people out there who are in desperate need of heroes, Mr. Seventy-Six,” you said, your eyes turning to a framed cut-out of a newspaper article on the beginnings of Overwatch, “and without Overwatch, I don’t think there are many people who would be willing to help them. People out there are suffering, a lot more than I am at any given point in time, and we don’t really give much thought to them, but Overwatch does.” Your gaze turned back to the old soldier before you, hardened with determination. “The reason I risked my life to get that information to Mr. McCree is the same reason why I gave up everything I’ve known to be here today, sir; I want to help people, in any way that I can, even if that way is to sneak a bit of info into a phone call or simply to make coffee for the people who do all the real hero work out there. There are lives at stake that are worth a lot more than my own, people out there who could do great things if only given the chance. Who’s going to help them if we don’t?”

The soldier laughed, a deep hearty rumble that made you blush and look away quickly. Had you said something funny? No, you didn’t remember doing so… Was he laughing  _ at _ you? You bit your lip, gaze trained on the ground as you grew uneasy. You’d just spilled your heart out to this man, and he was laughing at you?

“I’m sorry, Ms. Marsh, forgive me for the outburst,” he said finally, clearing his throat as he gathered himself. “I just wasn’t expecting such a heartfelt response. Something along the lines of “I felt it was the right thing to do” would have been just fine, but you went above and beyond. Please, come sit at the desk.” He sat up and motioned toward one of the plush oak chairs sitting in front of the desk, where you promptly moved to, curious. Why have you move closer?

“Before you can begin your job, there are a few things I must discuss with you. First, because of your unfortunate involvement with Arachnid a few weeks ago, once your files are finished transferring into Athena’s database, they will have to be deleted from the government’s database. We can’t have you tracked back here, one for your own safety, and two for the safety of everyone else who works here.

“Second, you will find that, unlike the other faculty who work and live here, your quarters will be among the lower levels, down with the agents you so fondly call “heroes”. This is due to your need to work closely with the agents to ensure everything goes smoothly, whether it be transference of data for file updates, delivering a message, or, should the need arise, your attending to them while in-service. You have already met agents Ziegler, McCree, and Zaryanova, I would advise you to become personally acquainted with the rest of them.

“Third, because of the possibility that you will be out on the field with an agent, it will be necessary for you to receive some form of combative training. From the security footage, I have noticed you seem to already have a small amount of military-grade training, which is strange, seeing as your government files mention nothing of being part of any military branch, but, nevertheless, you will still be required to go through some training. I will be assigning an agent to teach you what they can. It is up to you to determine how much you learn from their teaching. I suggest you take everything they say to heart. You never know what might be useful in a pinch.

“Lastly, you will be required to wear some form of uniform while on duty, unless you are out on the field. You have a meeting with one of our tailors after this to get your measurements and a temporary uniform for you to wear until your uniforms are done being put together. After you're done with that, one of our available agents will give you a tour around the building. You aren't expected to memorise the layout right away. Tomorrow, during your meeting with Winston to discuss your duties, you will receive your on-base communicator, which will already have the names and numbers of our agents, as well as a map of the facility.”

Your head swam with all the information you'd just had piled onto you all at once. It was quite a bit to take in, but you somehow managed it, giving the soldier a small nod when you were sure you'd stored the information safely away.

He must have been able to see the brief struggle flash across your face because he chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t worry, Ms. Marsh, all of this will be re-explained to you during your interview with Winston. Do you have any questions for me in the meantime?”

“A few,” you said truthfully, sorting the few questions in your mind into a prioritised order. “How many people am I answering to for this job? I was under the impression that I would be assisting one person, but the way you explained everything just now makes it sound like that’s not the case.”

“Per your job description, Winston and I are your bosses. You are not under any legal obligation to answer to anyone else,” he replied, chuckling again. “If you are in the field with another agent, you’ll follow either mine or Winston’s orders first and foremost, and the agent’s only in the circumstance that it either doesn’t conflict with our orders, or the situation requires you to follow theirs or put yourself in danger. But, as we will not be sending you on any high-profile or life-threatening missions, the latter is very unlikely to happen.”

You nodded, less confusion clouding your mind now, though you still had a couple questions for the older man sitting before you. “How am I to address everyone? Just so I don’t insult anyone my first day on the job.”

You felt there was a smile behind his mask as he answered you. “However you feel best. If they are uncomfortable with it, they’ll let you know and give you an alternative.”

“What about you, sir?”

“Me?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Is there something in particular you’d like me to refer to you as?” Your eyes instinctively scanned his face for emotion, though you knew you’d find nothing besides, perhaps, a crinkle on his forehead. You were eager to hear his response, after all, “Mr. Seventy-Six” sounded a bit weird.

He was strangely quiet for some time before he answered, something strange and unidentifiable in his voice. “Commander is fine, Ms. Marsh. I think that’s enough questions for now, you don’t want to be stuck in this stuffy office all day. Eugene? You can come in now.”

You jumped, turning to watch as a tall, slender man stepped into the office, holding the door open behind him. Brown eyes sparkled down at you as he grinned. “Is zis ze new employee, Commander? She has a very lovely stature, and zat figure!”

“Yes, Eugene, this is Ms. Marsh. Treat her as well as you would any of our agents,” Soldier:76 laughed, gesturing towards you.

Understanding that you were meant to follow Eugene out of the room, you nodded and stood. You wanted to stay and ask the Commander more questions, but, with the way he had dismissed you so quickly after the last one, you got the feeling he wanted to be left alone.

Eugene gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as you came to stand beside him. “You wound me, sir! When have I ever mistreated a lady?” Turning to you, he asked, “Are you ready, Mademoiselle Marsh?” His smile widened when you nodded. “Zen, right zis way! What kind of excerzise do you do? Your waist is so slim!”

 

Your uniform was pretty and formal while still remaining comfortable; a variety of gentle, flowy, or ruffled shirts in varying shades of white, all paired with the famous “Overwatch Blue” in the form of a skirt or blazer, and a pin that bore the Overwatch sigil.

Eugene had been sweet, complimenting you at every turn, making you blush and avoid looking over at him. Thankfully, he didn’t take it any further than passing compliments, and you were released within the hour. He gave you a couple directions; down the hall to your right, take two lefts, but not three, three and you would be completely lost, take the elevator up four floors, then take a right into the double doors to your left. That was where you would find your guide.

The room you entered seemed to be a mess hall, filled with plenty of people, all of which were dressed in uniforms with the same version of the Overwatch Blue you’d had to try on for the past hour. These must be some of the other faculty the Commander had mentioned, you reasoned, glancing around as you bit your lip. You felt awkward. No one had looked over as you walked in, so you didn’t feel any eyes on you, but you couldn’t help but think about how the hell you were going to find your guide in this crowd. You couldn’t go around asking each and every person “Are you my tour guide?”, that would just be… wrong. 

Upon looking around, you noticed the people seemed to be whispering excitedly to each other, staring over at a corner of the room where a more condensed crowd seemed to be huddled. 

‘ _ What’s going on over there? _ ’ you wondered, stretching your neck to try to see around the crowd, and suddenly found your gaze meeting a pair of eyes from across the room. Your heart caught in your throat. ‘ _ Tracer. _ ’

The Brit grinned broadly over at you and stood, quickly saying something to the group around her. You could practically feel the sad groan of the crowd as she made her way through it straight over to…

You.

Your eyes widened when she reached out and took your hands into hers, looking excitedly up into your eyes. “You must be the new assistant Winston was talking about! I’ve heard a lot about you! Did you really take out Roy Adams by yourself?!”

You couldn’t help but smile and blush at her enthusiasm, something about her negating your normal awkwardness. “Um, it was purely self defense, but, yeah, I did…”

“That’s absolutely wicked!” she beamed, squeezing your hands. “You’ll have to tell me about it later! For now, we’ve got a tour to do!”

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Lena?” a man asked, coming up beside her and laying a dark hand on her shoulder, quirking an eyebrow up at her.

You felt your hands get a bit sweaty and your knees become weak as you looked up and met the coffee-brown gaze of the new arrival. Lucio Corriea dos Santos was standing before you. The young revolutionary leader who aimed to improve the world through his music. You couldn’t count how many times you’d listened to his music at full volume on shitty days, couldn’t even begin to describe how much he’d inspired you when you’d first woken up in the hospital. You’d save up a year’s worth of wages just to get the cheapseats at one of his concerts when he was in London last, and you’d never smiled more than when you were there. 

And here he was, in the flesh, meeting  _ your _ gaze, smiling at  _ you _ , as if you were equals. You, a simple assistant who meant nothing to anyone.

Lena suddenly dropped your hands as hers flew up to her cheeks. “Blimey, I nearly forgot! Thanks, Lucio!” Holding out a single hand, she grinned down at you. “The name’s Lena Oxton, though, you probably already knew that.”

Snapping your gaze away from the DJ, you quickly shook her hand. “B-B-Briallen Marsh.”

Lucio’s eyes widened and he look at you in surprise, his lips quirked up into a smile. “No way! You’re Briallen Marsh?”

You blushed and nodded a bit, brushing your bangs back. “Um, yeah… you-you-you’ve heard of me?” The thought made your heart soar; your idol knew who you were? You, a nobody?

His smile widened and he nodded. “Of course I have! You sent me that letter a few years back when you were in the hospital. That sucks that you had to go through that, but I’m glad my music could be of some help.”

Your blush deepened and you looked away, smiling in spite of yourself. He actually remembered the letter you sent about a week into your stay at the hospital in Switzerland? The letter had detailed the events you’d been told that caused your amnesia, and how you’d fallen into a deep depression until you’d discovered him and his music, how he’d inspired you to keep moving and made you want to do some form of good in the world, no matter how small.

“I’m… flattered that you-you remembered. It-It meant a lot to me when you-you sent me that re-reply,” you managed, sure your ears had turned red.

Lucio laughed, shaking his head. “Of course I remembered! It’s not everyday you get a letter from an amnesiac saying that you’ve become an inspiration right off the bat! But, look, you’re here now, doing some good in the world like you said you wanted to!” His grin was wide, his eyes sparkling as he spoke. The look on his face and the way he talked about you made your heart swell; he really cared about his fans to a personal extent, it was clear in how proud he seemed to be of you.

“Well, I-I wouldn’t say  _ I’m _ the one doing the good in the world here, I mean,” you gestured to the two heroes standing in front of you, “ _ you’re  _ the heroes here, not-not me. I’m just an assistant.”

“Aww, rubbish!” Lena interjected, taking your hands again. “Don’t be so humble, Briallen! We may go out and do all the fighting, but we wouldn’t be able to do it without everyone back here! In their own way, everyone who works with us is a hero as well!”

“Lena’s right,” Lucio said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t put yourself down just because you aren’t on the field. Trust me, I’d rather not have to do that, but it’s what I can do to try to make a difference. You’re working with Overwatch now. You’re putting yourself on the line to work for a technically illegal organisation bent on saving the world. That makes you a hero in my book.”

You couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face, feeling bashful under their words and gazes. You supposed you really were doing something worthwhile, working for them, even if it was just as an assistant. “O-Okay, fine, I’ll accept the title, only if you guys will accept “superhero”. I mean, you two practically are superheroes, what with you going out to fight evil and all that.”

“Superhero,” Lena echoed dreamily, casting her gaze out toward what you later would find wasn’t an actual window, but a holoscreen that mimicked the first floor above-ground. “ ‘S got a nice ring to it!”

“Yeah, it sure does. Come on,” Lucio uncrossed his arms and waved you two along, “let’s get on with the tour. I’m sure you’re dying to know where everything is.”

 

An hour and a half later, your head spun. There were so many rooms and floors of the compound that you worried you’d never be able to remember where anything was. Thankfully, most of the offices you’d need to visit often were on a secured level that only you and the agents could access. Turns out, you’d woken up on that level, having left it with Eugene to get fitted for your uniform. You followed Lena and Lucio down to a deeper series of levels, about three floors below the first secured level. 

“Aaaaand this is your room!” Lena said, dragging you over to one of the doors down the hallway. “It’s a bit strange that 76 decided to give you a room in the agent’s quarters, but that means we get to spend more time with each other! Go ahead! Open the door, luv!”

“Um, how do I do that?” you asked, furrowing your brows as you looked at the door in question. It seemed perfectly nondescript, just your basic metal door without a handle. As far as you knew, it could have just been another piece of the wall inlaid in this piece for reasons you wouldn’t be able to understand.

“Use your card, silly! There’s a scanner right there, you see it?” she asked, pointing to a small square in the middle of the supposed door. “Just hold your card up to it and the door will open, simple as that.”

“Card?” you echoed, turning to look at her in confusion. “Uh, sorry to burst your bubble, Ms. Oxton, but I never got a card…”

Lena’s eyes wide and she frowned. “Really? That’s strange, Winston’s normally really good at remembering the little things. Have you seen him today?”

You shook your head. “No, Mr. McCree and Ms. Zaryanova helped me move my furniture out of my apartment this morning, and I met with the Commander just a couple hours ago, and then with Eugene to get fitted. I haven’t seen anyone else besides you two,” you said, gesturing to the two standing beside you. “I have a meeting with him first thing tomorrow morning, though.”

“Well, maybe Winston had other things on his mind,” Lucio offered, giving a small shrug. “He is kinda busy, I mean, Briallen being here is proof of that.”

“Hmm, you’re right. Better give him a call, though, just in case. Maybe he can send me a photo of it,” Lena said, shaking her head as she pulled out her com and quickly dialed the gorilla. A couple seconds of silence ticked by before she let out a sigh and pulled the phone from her face. “No answer. Blimey, he must be really busy today! Well, in a case where you don’t have your card on you, Athena, our ever present and lovely AI, can help you with that. Athena?”

“Hello, Lena, how can I help you?” the soft, disembodied voice came from the ceiling, making you jump. 

“It seems Ms. Marsh here doesn’t have her card on her. Could you open the door for us?”

“I would love to help you, Lena, but I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Ms. Marsh has not been given access to her room yet. Have you spoken with Winston?” Athena replied, her voice somehow sounding as if she felt saddened by this fact. 

Lena sighed. “No, I tried giving him a ring, but he didn’t answer his com.”

There was a couple seconds of quiet before Athena responded again. “Strange, it appears I have been temporarily prohibited from viewing Winston’s office. I am sorry, Lena, it appears I cannot help you with this.”

“No worries, luv, that just means Briallen here gets to spend the night with one of us! Ooh, how exciting!” Lena practically vibrated where she stood, grinning broadly.

“I do not mean to offend, Lena, but perhaps Ms. Marsh would feel more comfortable in Mr. Santos’ room. After all, there would be no possible chance of any sexual advances in his care.”

Lena turned a bright red, her brows furrowing in embarrassment as Lucio laughed. “Athena, just because I like girls doesn’t mean I’m going to shoot at every bird I see,” she protested, giving you a nervous glance. “I only just met her, after all.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, your cheeks also turning a bit red at even the thought of anything remotely like that happening between you and Lena. Yes, she was cute, but, as she’d said, you two had only just met and you barely knew her. There’d be plenty of time for figuring out things like that later. 

“My apologies, Lena, was I too forward? I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Should I adjust my protocol?” 

“I think all of us would appreciate that, yes, thank you,” came Lena’s response as she ran her fingers through her bangs.

“I… I think I should stay the night with Mr. Santos-” you began.

“Lucio,” he corrected, shaking his head. “Don’t make me feel like an old man, now, Briallen. We’re the same age!”

You ducked your head sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Er, Lucio, Ms. Oxton-”

“Oh, luv, just call me Lena. There’s no need to be so formal!” 

“Uh, right. Well, I think I should stay the night with Lucio, just so we can have some time to put this, er, embarrassment behind us,” you said softly, shifting your weight.

“Aww, lighten up, Lena. It’s not the end of the world!” Lucio teased, giving her a slight nudge when she pouted. “There’s always next time.”

“I suppose there is. Well, seeing as you can’t get into your room, you’re going to need a change of clothes,” she crossed her arms over her chest and eyed you a bit, making you grin a bit nervously.

“That’s alright, Lena, I can give her one of my hoodies to wear for tonight and let Eugene know that she’s going to need one of her uniforms by tomorrow morning.” Lucio placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’ll be fine.”

You took a deep breath, trying not to flinch under the physical contact. Today had been a long day, what with moving and touring the facility and literally meeting your hero. You had a good feeling about working here, especially if all of your coworkers were going to be as friendly as these two. Perhaps choosing to give up everything you knew to come work here was the right call after all.

 

_ Meanwhile… _

 

“What is this about, Jack?” Winston asked, folding his hands on his desk. “I was all onboard with hiring Ms. Marsh, especially after what I’d seen with the Roy incident, but this…” he paused, gesturing to the added files on her record displayed on the hologram in front of him. “Specialised combat training between you two, supervised by Angela, a room on the agent’s level, authorisation to accompany agents out onto the field… What is this, Jack? Who is she?”

The old soldier looked over, blue eyes lit up by a light Winston hadn’t seen in the old man for quite some time. The way he smiled softly, rubbing at his chin as he turned, letting out a soft chuckle… Jack knew something, something big. “It’s… a long story,” he said dismissively, shaking his head. “Suffice to say, I’ve known her since she was a child.”

Winston frowned, adjusting his glasses and dismissing the holo. “Start from the beginning, then. I want to know everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems you've taken another step forward in your story, dear reader. I can only wonder what the next one will have in store, but, that is for you to decide. Let me know what you want to see next, if you would so kindly do so. Leave your mark on your own story. Leave a comment, kudos, email me, or message me directly on Tumblr @candiedgears to imprint yourself into this tale.
> 
>  
> 
> I will see you, dear reader, in the next chapter. Aloha
> 
>  
> 
> Post Script; I cannot describe what I have written in the beginning as a panic attack, as I am unsure if I've ever had one myself. I believe a have, and such were the feelings I had experienced at the time, but I also have Asperger's Syndrome, so I tend to have a different reaction to situations as other people do. Please, if you believe I have misinterpreted it, tell me so. I would love to learn what I obviously don't know and be able to extend my knowledge on mental health issues. 
> 
> Post Post Script; I'm too lazy/too excited to post this to finish up the chapter for now, so you guys'll have to wait for the second part when I post it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :)


	5. Insert Bee Pun Here

Lucio’s room was sleek and stylish, mostly made up of bright colours, light brown walls, nice soft, caramel carpeting, and brilliantly painted vinyl records hanging up on the walls. It all seemed to mimic his personality; warm, welcoming, and very friendly. You felt almost immediately at home, a notion which, after you mentioned it, made him chuckle. The hoodie he had lent to you to sleep in was much larger than either of you - he admitted that it wasn’t necessarily his, and belonged to his boyfriend - but it was comfy and soft and kept you decently covered. You slept on one of the colourful bean bag chairs in the living room, despite Lucio’s insistence you take the bed, he’s fine with the bean bag, and woke to find your uniform - a layered satin eggshell blouse with a blue underlayer, a pair of blue nylons underneath a slim black pencil skirt, and a pair of black Oxfords - already laid out for you. You figured Eugene had been given access to Lucio’s room and stopped by after you’d fallen asleep.

“Hey, look who’s awake,” Lucio said, smiling at you as he stepped into the living room, catching you admiring one of the painted records on the wall; one with a grassy meadow scene whose long-stalked flowers seemed to sway in a non-existent breeze. His gaze softened a bit at the sight and he chuckled. “They have a certain magic to them, don’t they?” he asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You nodded, still rubbing some sleep out of your eyes. You’d yet to wake up enough to properly change into your uniform, or, really, do anything. “They do,” you agreed, slipping your hands back into the hoodie pocket. “Who painted them?”

“That’d be Markus, my boyfriend. He paints in his free time, and made those for me as an anniversary gift. I have to say, he waaaay out-gifted me with those. I got him a set of oil paints I found in an art shoppe in Italy.”

You smiled and chuckled, watching the way Lucio practically melted when talking about Markus. It was incredibly sweet and obvious that they cared immensely for each other. “How long have you two been dating?”

“Uh, about two years, now.  Wow, yeah, two years! Man, it feels like it was just yesterday when we went on our first date,” he admitted, leaning against the wall, grinning widely, stupidly, but in a charming way that made you feel a wave of second-hand happiness.

“I’ve heard that it sometimes feels like that in the best kind of relationships. Was he a fan of yours?”

Lucio shrugged, scratching his chin. “Not really, I don’t think. He definitely is now, though. I’d made it a point not to date fans for most of my career, the idea just felt wrong to me, like I’d be taking advantage of whoever it was.” He shook his head, turning his gaze back to you, his smile unfading. “Anyway, you getting hungry? We have our own private mess hall if you want to stay out of sight of the rest of the staff. I saw how uncomfortable and awkward you felt when you walked in yesterday. It was kind of obvious.”

‘ _ So he noticed… _ ’ Hugging yourself, you blushed, embarrassed. “Yeah, I-I guess I am. Thank you, um, could-could you wait for me while I change? I still don’t-don’t know the layout of the compound very well.”

“Yeah, of course! I never leave a friend hangin’!” he said cheerfully, making you feel fuzzy. You hadn’t expected to be accepted by your coworkers this quickly, it made you feel really good, maybe a bit more confident in yourself.

You got changed quickly, neatly folding the hoodie and placing it on top of his washer, before you met him back in his living room. He seemed to take a second to take in the sight of you in your uniform - which fit perfectly, by the way; you’d have to properly thank Eugene the next time you saw him - with your hair pulled back in a reverse French Twist.

Lucio nodded approvingly as you stopped and did a hesitant twirl under his scrutiny. With how tense you were from being judged by your idol, your twirl probably looked more like a slow, awkward penguin turn, but he smiled all the same. “Beautiful,” he said, uncrossing his arms. “Eugene has outdone himself again. So, you ready to go? Totally cool if you aren't. The cooks don’t mind making a late breakfast, and I don’t mind eating one.”

You blushed a bit at the compliment and nodded. “Definitely. I desperately need a cup of tea to wake myself up before I meet with Winston. I don’t want his first in-person impression of me to be a sleepy goblin-person who can’t focus on anything to save her life.”

Lucio laughed, clapping a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Well, then, let’s get you that caffeine.”

You walked with Lucio down the hallways, making sure to note which direction you took and how many doors you passed. As you approached the large metal doorway that invariably lead to the private mess hall, the muffled sound of voices reached your ears and you suddenly found yourself panicking. What if they didn’t like you? What if you accidentally insulted one of them and it got you fired? What if this was all just some really ridiculously elaborate practical joke? It seemed too good to be true, after all. Maybe this was all a dream and you were about to wake up. You didn’t want to wake up, you wanted all of this to be real, but what if it wasn’t? What if everyone secretly hated you?  

As if sensing your panic, Lucio gently urged you to a stop just outside the doors’ scanner, turning you to face him. His hands rested gently on your shoulders, providing a comforting weight and sense of stability amidst your panic. Coffee-brown eyes looked into yours and it was only then, with him being so close, that you noticed the little amber flecks that accented his irises. “Hey, now, don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet! I know it’s a bit scary meeting new people, hell,  _ I _ get nervous sometimes! But, you just gotta be yourself. They’ll love you, I guarantee it.” His smile was bright, supportive, as he squeezed your shoulders. “Go knock their socks off!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, some of your nerves fading with his encouragement. “If you insist, sir.”

He frowned playfully, giving you a light shove. “Hey, what did I say about formalities like that? We’re the same age, dammit! You’re making me feel like an old man.”

You grinned and shook your head. “Technically, I’m on duty, now. I have to maintain some level of professionalism,” you said, turning to step into the mess hall as Lucio held up his card. The door slid open in front of you, and you immediately found your path blocked with a hulking brute of a man, who towered over you, staring at you through the tinted glass of a gas mask. A good two feet taller than you, he seemed to be made up of muscle, meat, and menace. His large frame blocked any possible view into the mess hall, and his sheer size, matched with the heavy breathing emanating from his mask, made you tremble in fear.

“Whatcha got over there, Roadie?” came a raucous voice from behind the brute, its timbre making you jump. The sound of footsteps, or, more accurately, the step-thunk! step-thunk! step-thunk! of one walking on a peg leg followed the voice as the large man grunted and scratched his stomach.

“I heard voices,” he replied, saying nothing more as he seemed to continue to stare you down.

“Yeah? ‘N whose didja- oh!” A grubby, soot covered face squeezed past the bulk of the door’s guardian, earning nothing but a grunt from him, and a pair of shockingly amber eyes met yours with a smile. “ ‘N who’s this good-lookin’ sheila?”

The scent of gasoline and musk (with an undertone of lemon) overwhelmed your senses, and the appearance of the new face shocked you out of your hesitancy. You took a step back, attempting to create some distance between the two figures imposing on your personal space, and backed straight into Lucio’s chest.

“This is Miss Briallen Marsh,” he supplied for you, gently squeezing your arms with a soft chuckle. “She’s Winston’s new hire, she’ll be working with us from now on. Briallen, this is Junkrat and Roadhog, two of our most recent additions to the roster.”

‘ _ Get your act together, Briallen! _ ’ you thought, instinctively holding out a hand for them to shake. “It-It’s nice to-to-to meet you! I’m-I’m looking forward to working with you!” you sputtered out, heart beating nervously in your chest. ‘ _ God, that stutter is going to get annoying… _ ’

Junkrat’s smile widened. “Really? The monkey’s got some good taste,” he said, breaking out into a somewhat manic laugh at your cringe. His laugh, however, was cut short when his companion swung a bear paw up to shake your hand, subsequently catching the shorter Australian on the head. The brute’s grasp was surprisingly gentle and his warm hand easily enveloped the entirety of your own, along with a bit of your forearm.

“I’d be nice if I were you, Junkrat,” Lucio warned with a soft laugh. “She’s going to be handling your files and everything. You never know what she might be capable of doing.”

You chuckled awkwardly, your hand going immediately cold as Roadhog pulled his away, and your stomach growled, loud enough that you knew they’d all heard. Blushing, you hid slightly behind your bangs.

Junkrat’s eyes lit up. “Gettin’ a bit nippish, there, are ya, sheila?” he chuckled, squeezing more of his gangly frame past Roadhog’s side. “Lucky for you, ya got here just in time! Hana’s making her special pancakes!”

As if stirred by his companion’s words, Roadhog turned and moved out of the way, gesturing to the long table set in the middle of the room. When you hesitated to move, unsure of whether you were really welcome or not, he simply nodded with a soft grunt and went to sit down himself, respecting your need for a bit of personal space. Junkrat, on the other hand, had no intentions of being so thoughtful.

With an odd flourish, he wrapped his large metal arm around your waist, guiding you to the table. Being so close, you could take in more than you could before; his limp, although obvious due to his metal leg, was almost angled towards you, as if he was weighed down by his prosthetic arm. In fact, his slouching, hunched form seemed to indicate that was exactly the case. It was an interesting detail to note, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he lost those limbs in the first place, and why, being part of Overwatch now and having plenty of new tech at his fingertips, he hadn’t replaced them with something lighter and more practical. How tall would he be if he put in the effort to fix his posture? He already stood a good bit taller than you, perhaps he would stand almost as tall as Roadhog? No, that was a bit too generous, he’d be at least half a foot shorter than his companion.

“So, sheila, what’s your opinion on explosives?” he asked, seeming to give a soft, euphoric shudder at the mention of them.

“Rat,” Roadhog warned, his voice a deep rumble.

Junkrat just waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, Roadie, I gotcha. ‘S just’a question.”

“Um,” you started, frowning a bit at the strange question. “I-I mean, um, I-I don’t know? I guess they can be, uh, can be pretty sometimes, like, if they’re fireworks or-or something, but, really, they’re dangerous and cause a lot of mess…”

He laughed maniacally again, and you could have sworn his grip tightened slightly around your waist. “That’s good enough for me!”

“What are you cackling about in there, Junkrat?” came the voice of a young woman as you sat down, a bit too close to the Aussie for your liking, but he had trapped you between himself and his companion, so there was nowhere for you to go. You recognised the voice and turned to see the familiar face of Hana Song, the professional gamer Iris had idolised. You’d watched many of her live streams back in the triplet’s flat, even though you weren’t really big into games.

The Korean was standing in another doorway, carrying a large plate of pancakes in one hand and a pile of smaller plates in the other. Her eyes widened when she saw you and she tipped her head in curiosity. “Who’s this?” she asked, coming over to set the plates on the table. Following behind her, with a pitcher of tea and a stack of cups, was a taller, darker-skinned figure who regarded you with a suspicious look. This woman, you didn’t really recognise, and the look of distrust in her eyes didn’t settle well with you. 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, avoiding eye contact.

“Roadie, drumroll please!” Junkrat said, smiling delightedly.

Roadhog grumbled, but indulged him anyway, lightly patting his hands on the table, making it rattle from the force of the impact.

The more wiry of the two Aussies you were sandwiched between lept up, placing a peg-leg on top the table, his hands on his hips. “May I present,” he said, somehow louder than he had been before, “Duh-duh-duh-duh! Miss Briallen March!”

“Marsh,” corrected the other, halting the drumroll and immediately reaching for a plate. 

“Marsh,” Junkrat echoed, his smile unfading as he gestured to you with both hands, looking between the two women regarding you; Hana seemed amused, her companion, not so much.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Jamison,” the woman said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Junkrat scowled, sitting down and pouting like a child with his arms crossed huffily over his chest. “It’s Junkrat. And she’s Winston’s new assistant.” For a few seconds, it seemed like he was going to sulk for a while, but he, the ever shifting whirlwind, lit up at the sight of the pancakes and immediately began to pile some onto the plate Roadhog had slid over to him.

Almost at once, the woman’s expression changed; her eyes softened and widened at the same time, and she smiled warmly. “Well, why didn’t you say so? It’s nice to meet you! I’m Fareeha, and this is Hana,” she said, gesturing to the gamer, who had also begun to pile pancakes onto a plate.

“It’s, uh, a pleasure,” you said, relaxing a bit. “I-I hope you don’t mind that-that I came in for breakfast. I, uh, well, I haven’t eat-eaten anything since last night.” ‘ _ Duh! Of course you haven’t, idiot! _ ’

Fareeha laughed, tilting her head back a bit. “You’re a hoot! Of course we don’t mind, the more the merrier! Hana made some strawberry-oatmeal pancakes, and I made some sweet tea earlier. It was in the fridge for a while, so it should be nice and cold. Help yourself!”

You nodded a bit awkwardly, smiling despite yourself. Avoiding eye-contact, you took a couple pancakes and poured yourself a cup of tea. You listened to them talk easily with each other, slowly feeling more at ease until...

“So, sheila, I heard you took down Ol’ Roy Adams all by yer onsie!” Junkrat said, turning excitedly towards you.

“Um, yeah, I did,” you admitted, pushing a bit at the remnants of your breakfast. “I, um, didn’t-didn’t really mean to, it was just self-”

“Tell me all about it!” He practically jumped up from his seat, eyes sparkling. He turned a complete ninety degrees in his chair, folding his hands neatly on his lap like a child in church, eagerly listening to the preacher.

“I, uhm,” you murmured, suddenly uncomfortable. “Well…”

“Jamison,” Fareeha scolded, frowning over at him. “Not everyone is comfortable talking about… death. If Miss Marsh doesn’t want to talk about it, don’t push her.” She shook her head, and you finally caught sight of the tattoo under her eye. Suddenly, you knew exactly who she was.

Smiling a bit, you folded your hands between your knees and shook your head. “It’s-It’s alright, Miss Amari. I don’t-don’t mind too much. It’s not a-a very… exciting story…” And you fell into explaining what happened, pausing to answer a few questions from time to time, your nerves fading as you went on. By the time your story was finished, Junkrat was looking up at you, wide-eyed and in awe, a bright smile on his face.

“You really did all that?” he asked in a childlike whisper.

“Yeah. Not too impressive, I know,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck.

“For one of us, maybe, but for a civilian,” Fareeha said, shaking her head.

“For a civvie, that’s fucking awesome!” Hana cut in, her eyes bright. 

“Yes, it’s very impressive. Miss Marsh’s level of combative ability is quite surprising for a civilian of her stature, no offense,” another voice called from the door, making you jump in your skin. There was a chuckle in its cadence, a familiar warmth dancing through the words.

Turning around, you were granted the sight of the friendly-faced gorilla smiling over at you, adjusting his glasses.

You stood immediately, smoothing down your shirt, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t come-come straight to-to your office, sir,” you stuttered, suddenly feeling sickly nervous. “I-I, Lucio - I asked him to show me the mess hall so I could-could grab something to-to eat and-and-and I, um, I suppose I got distracted…”

Winston laughed, shaking his head. “There’s no need to apologise, Miss Marsh. In fact, I came here to grab some breakfast as well. Though, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to accompany me back to my office so we can get you all settled into your new job.”

You held back a sigh of relief and nodded. “Of-Of course, sir!”

  
  


Winston’s office was a lot neater than you had expected it to be, which really shouldn’t have surprised you. After all, while he was a scientist, he was also, on a mental and emotional level, a person, same as you. It was comprised of more open space than office, probably to accommodate for his gorilla-ness, but it was comforting nonetheless. Large holographic “windows” shed natural-looking light across the office, giving it a very open feel. Surprisingly, there were very few filing cabinets, perhaps two at most from what you could see. A handful of monitors sat on his desk, each lit up with a different image. 

Winston settled down happily in his chair, dipping a peeled banana into a jar of peanut butter as he observed the monitors. “Come, have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Your communicator and card should be…” he tore his gaze from the screens and searched the drawers of his desk. “Ah! Here!” HIs smile was bright as he placed a small watch-like device and a simple-looking card on the top of his desk, pushing them towards you as you came over. “Sorry about yesterday. I was unusually busy and it completely slipped my mind to make sure these made their way to you. Athena flagged me down and informed me on your, er, predicament. I take it Lucio tried to make you take the bed?”

You chuckled and nodded, sitting in the only seat in front of his desk, picking up the items as you did so. The communicator felt light in your hand, lighter than any phone you’d ever owned in the past five years, and resembled an old Pineapple Watch. Interested, you held it up and admired the sleekness of the design. “Yes, he did. I didn’t give in, though,” you responded, looking at your reflection in the metal. “It didn’t feel right, imposing like that. I was already taking up space in his room, I couldn’t take his bed.”

Winston chuckled and held out a large hand, on which you placed the watch. “Here, hold out your arm.”

You did as you were instructed and watched as he balanced the device on your wrist, tapped the flat surface on the top, and the device moulded to the shape of your wrist. Your eyes widened in surprise and you twisted your arm this way and that, trying to get a good look at the device from every angle. It was perfectly moulded to the shape of your forearm, no seam to be seen, and the flat surface was lit up with different clinical measurements, such as your heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels, etc. After a second, the screen changed, displaying the words “Please Hold Communicare Before Face”. Doing so caused the text to change to, “Thank You. Please Hold Still”, then, after another second, the text disappeared altogether, replaced with a small image of your face, your name, blood type, age, and other information. Apparently, you were allergic to avocados. Who knew?

“Intriguing, isn’t it? They link to Athena’s database and communicate with each other, whether off-base or on,” Winston said, his eyes bright. You couldn’t help but think of Gibson and his love of technology. He would have gone apeshit over this. No pun intended. “I made them myself, with a little bit of help from our technologies department, of course. I’ll send you the manual a bit later, but, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

You lowered your arm and nodded, folding your hands in your lap. “Yes-Yes sir, of-of course! I can’t wait to-to get started!” you said, smiling up at him.

His smile became confused, his eyes concerned as he looked you over. “Miss Marsh… I hate to ask, and in no way is this intended to be rude, but, I feel I must know. The accident all those years ago, did it… Did it leave you with a permanent stutter?”

You blushed vibrantly, embarrassment flooding over you. Your stutter was a slightly sensitive topic, one you tended to avoid at all costs, but, here in front of your boss, you couldn’t quite do that. “Uhm, uh, n-no it didn’t. I, uhm, Have a habit of-of-of stuttering when-when I’m nervous… My, uh, my-my old therapist said it-it’s a self.... Self-confidence thing,” you murmured, fiddling with your fingers as you looked away. You tried desperately to control it, but, it seemed the more you fought to keep it under wraps, the worse it became. “I’m… I’ve been trying to-to work on it.”

You heard him sigh softly, the sound of clicking keyes following quickly after. You knew, without even trying, that he was pulling up your file - you couldn’t count the number of times this happened during an interview - and you knew what was coming next; Winston would see your file, read everything Ms. Lawson had written about you, all the problems you had after your accident - trouble saying anything for a while, which developed into a crippling stutter that slowly began to fade, frequent lapses in memory, the bits of your brain they’d put metal and programming into just to keep you functioning, how you’d refused to eat for a while, convinced the world would be better off without you, after all, you were a bad person, and so many more things you didn’t want to recount. Then, once he’d read all that, he’d say-

“I see. It says here you stopped seeing Miss Lawson before you finished the therapy for the accident. Would-”

“I couldn’t afford it,” you cut in, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Most-Most of her patients have family that help p-pay for the-the-the therapy and counseling. I didn’t have that luxury.”

Yes, everything was following the usual routine. Next, he’d give you a pitying look, clap you on the back and say-

_ “I’m sorry, Ms. Marsh, but I’m afraid we can’t afford to have you working for us. Please, pack your things and go home.” _

“I can see this is a topic you’d rather not discuss,” he hummed softly, settling back in his seat. “Why don’t we move on?”

Wait, that’s not what he was supposed to say! You looked up at him in surprise, met the sympathising look on his face, and smiled gratefully, relief coursing through you. Your fingers stopped running along the semi-sharp edge of your keycard and you nodded. ‘ _ He’s… not going to make me quit? _ ’

His grin was rather large and toothy, making you feel at ease despite it’s innate wildness. “I take it the Commander explained most of the heavy parts of your position yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, that means I get the easy part!” Winston chuckled, taking a bite of the banana. “So, first thing I want to say is, welcome to the family! While you’re working here, you’re one of us, which also means that you don’t need to be so formal around us, especially me. At least, when it’s just us agents. Don’t want the others to think they can drop formalities, now, do we?  Anyways, while I am your boss, I’d much rather be your friend, so you can relax a bit. I’m not going to bite your head off or anything.”

  
  


Five floors. The elevator, thankfully large enough to accommodate the gorilla’s size, took you two down five floors below the office level, which you had learned was at least four floors underground. How deep did this building go? How far underground where you right now? You hadn’t had a chance to leave the facility yet, so you had no idea, nothing to judge by, especially as every floor felt the same as the one above it. Athena must have some pretty intricate atmosphere conditioning programs.

“Your first job will be easy,” Winston explained, leading you down the brightly lit hallway. Unlike the floors above, this one didn’t have any holo-windows, suggesting there were no offices or living spaces. Bright, fluorescent lights hung over your head, casting harsh lighting down onto you as you walked. The air smelled of dust and books, many, many old books. You loved it.

“As much as I would love to say we’re completely up to date on our technologies and keeping everything digitalised, I cannot. As a general rule, we always keep paper copies of things, just in case our system is hacked.” He puffed up his chest a bit. “Not that it’s a scenario which would most definitely play out. I like to think I’ve outsmarted the hackers, but, I can’t say that my systems are completely unable to be tapped into.” He pushed open a door and flicked a light switch. The lights flickered slowly to life, giving off a dull hum of electricity only found in old tech.

‘ _ Strange...  so, this floor isn’t linked to Athena’s system? _ ’ You coughed as a wave of dust flew into your face as he pushed the door open further, revealing a large records room filled with shelves packed with boxes upon boxes, the contents of most threatening to spill over and flood the floor with papers. ‘ _ Well… shite. _ ’

You could practically feel Winston’s uneasy smile as he stepped into the room, gesturing you to follow. “Yes, I know it looks like a lot, and, I won’t lie, it is. These are all of our paper documents since… Maybe twelve years ago? I need them sorted, organised, tossed, whatever, but that can wait. The most important information is right here.” He picked up a box which stood out like a sore thumb; it was new, lacking the coating of dust the others had, and was neatly organised and  _ not _ full to brimming. “These are the agent’s files, our combat agents, I should specify. They need to be looked through, agents that are… no longer with us… I don’t want you to throw them out, just….” His eyes softened with pain as he let out a soft grunt.

“Just update them?” you offered, reaching out to take the box from him. It was surprisingly heavy, for a box just filled with papers. ‘ _ Just how old is this information? _ ’ you thought, looking down at the files. For the box to be this heavy, the paper had to have been at least fifteen years old. With the ever-evolving state of technology, scientists had invented a much lighter, less wasteful type of paper that utilised small amounts of wood pulp and more synthetic materials, such as thinly woven silicon, glass, and a material that mimicked plant fibres. Noone used the old style of paper anymore. 

He smiled at your attempt. “In a way, yes. There’s a stamp in my office that I had hoped would never have to be used, but, I suppose it will. Come, follow me. I’ll get you set up in your office.”

‘ _ I get my own office?! _ ’ You nodded, withholding an excited smile and tucking the box under an arm so you could turn the light off and shut the door behind you before scurrying after Winston. “So, I take it I’ll be comparing Athena’s more updated files to these old ones and adjusting the old ones accordingly?”

Winston smiled, gesturing for you to enter the elevator before him as the metal doors slid open. “You’re quick!”

You blushed. “Well, it-it-it wasn’t that hard to-to-to deduce, I-I mean, I have had to do, to do this before.”

“You discredit yourself, Miss Marsh,” he sighed, shaking his head as he clambered in after you. “It’s good to be humble, yes, but not so humble that you beat yourself down.” With a small, understanding smile, he gently placed one of his large hands on your back, careful not to knock you over. “So, seeing as you already understand what you’re going to be doing, I suppose I can just leave you to it, then. I’ll link your authorisation level to your Communicare, which should allow you to access the files you need in Athena’s database.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! This story is heavily influenced by all of you, so, make sure to leave your comments, pop by my Tumblr @candiedgears to leave a pm if you want, and, stop by my Mediocre Matchmaking Service where you get to vote on who our main character ends up with! Love you all and I'll see you in the next chapter! 
> 
> pollmaker.vote/p/FZ9PH44P


	6. Flying Through Time

 

A week. You’d been at this for a week already, and you were no more than halfway done with the files Winston had tasked you with updating. Just how many friggin’ files did he have in that box?! At least a dozen too many, in your opinion. You were honestly ready to throw in the towel, call it a day, a year even, and just quit. But, then, you couldn’t do that, could you? It was either this or risk being tracked down by Arachnid, and that wouldn’t be any fun.  

Groaning, you tossed the current file to the ground, pulling at your already messy bangs. Your shoulders ached, your stomach grumbled, and your eyes begged to close, but you couldn’t take a break, not until you got done with today’s batch. That’s what you’d told yourself, and you were determined to stick with it, even if that meant staying in your office for ten plus hours a day, six days a week. If it hadn’t been for Lena, Lucio, and Hana checking in on you from time to time, or Winston’s sporadically-timed meetings which he needed you to attend, you’d have gone crazy with cabin fever by now.

“Is everything alright, Miss Marsh?” came Athena’s modulated and disembodied voice. “I have been monitoring your vital signs and have noticed various signs of anger or frustration. Would you like to talk about it? I have learned that humans sometimes feel better after talking out their complex emotions.”

You chuckled and leaned back in your chair, covering your eyes with an arm. “No, no, I’m fine, Athena, thank you for asking. I’m just… A bit overwhelmed with all of this. There are so many files to update. I’m a week in and only halfway done…”

“I see. I could play some music, if you’d like. That might make it feel as if time is going faster,” she offered, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“That’d be wonderful, Athena, thank you.” Within a second, soft music began playing through the room’s speakers, and you smiled before picking up the file you’d tossed, and getting back to work. This was the last file, you told yourself, the last file before you investigated the strange, thick one you’d noticed earlier. 

The files had been sorted in alphabetical order, only a few bearing the “deceased” stamp Winston had displayed a disliking for, which showed that you were not the first to go through these files. Though, judging by the amount of data missing from some of them, the last person to go through them had to have done so quite a few years ago. What was strange to you, however, was a file between “McCree, Jesse”, and “Morrison, Jack” labeled “Morgan, Morrigan”. You’d never heard of a “Morgan, Morrigan” before, which didn’t really surprise you - you couldn’t have full knowledge of every person who ever worked for Overwatch -, but the thing that piqued your interest most was that this one file in particular had multiple files in it, and the word “CLASSIFIED” printed in large, bright red letters across the front.

“Morrigan Morgan,” you murmured, running your fingers over the name printed on the thick manila paper. The name had a strangely familiar ring to it, as if you’d known this person, heard their name called a thousand times before, yet couldn’t recall a face, a voice, or a memory to associate with it. Opening the file revealed at least eight agent files, and opening these made your stomach turn. Even so, your curiosity got the better of you, and you persisted, reading each file carefully;

“ **Adams, Tazwell**

**Alias; Hunter**

**B.O.O; Durban, South America**

**Death - 12/01/20xx 23:05 pm. Tazwell Adams was shot dead in his own home. Guards remained unaware of the happenings within the home until the next morning. No signs of forced entry or struggle. No other casualties. Assailant unknown.** ” 

You recognised the man in the picture to be Hunter, one of the older, less popular Overwatch agents back when it was still in action. He didn’t seem too much older than you when he died, in fact, his profile even showed him to be the same age as you were currently. 

‘ _ I wonder why he was murdered… _ ’ you thought, sorting through the few pictures attached to the file. Adams seemed like a great guy, many of the pictures showed him helping out in those still-destitute areas of South Africa. ‘ _ Or why he’s in Morrigan’s file… Who is this Morrigan anyway? _ ’

Setting aside Tazwell’s file, you moved on to the next;

“ **al-Ghanem, Mumina**

**Alias; Masquerade**

**B.O.O; Palembang, Indonesia**

**Death - 12/05/20xx 15:18 pm. Mumina al-Ghanem was found locked inside her freezer, having frozen to death. All guards were found either incapacitated, with the worst showing signs of a major concussion, or dead. Signs of forced entry and a struggle were found. Total casualties - 6; Mumina al-Ghanem, Rose al-Ghanem (wife), and four guards. Assailant unknown.** ”

You shivered at the image of the old woman’s frozen body, almost feeling the cold yourself. She looked to be around Mrs. Amari’s age, with children of her own in some of the photos after. It looked like all three of them had decided to work for Overwatch as well, though, not as active agents like their mother. 

‘ _ Okay… so that’s two agents on this Morrigan’s list… I wonder what her goal was.. _ ’ You quickly moved on to the next file;

“ **Egland, Nikolai**

**Alias; Wildfire**

**B.O.O; Oslo, Norway**

**Death - 12/10/20xx 17:30 pm. Nikolai Egland was found dead in his bathtub, along with a toaster taken from his kitchen. Guards reported hearing a commotion, followed by Nikolai’s screams, but were unable to make it in time to apprehend the assailant. No signs of forced entry. Assailant unknown.** ”

‘ _ How do they know it wasn’t a suicide, though? _ ’ you thought, shuffling through the few pictures of Wildfire. He had been a popular agent back then, handsome, charming, fit, well-off, he practically had it all. But, you knew from experience that there could be a lot hidden behind a dazzling smile. 

Frowning, you paused, beginning to organise the read profiles by order of the death date, something about this making the back of your neck tingle as it did when you felt something was off. ‘ _ All of these deaths… It can’t be a serial killer, they always have an M.O.. I can’t seem to see one here, other than the targets were all Overwatch agents… These files… they were in Morrigan’s… Did she kill all of these people? They’re all within the same month!’ _

“ **Karali, Calliope**

**Alias; Pandora**

**B.O.O; Athens, Greece**

**Death - 12/25/20xx 07:00 am. Calliope Karali and her immediate family were all found dead inside their house on Christmas morning, hours after a distress call had been sent out to the Overwatch HQ. Autopsy reports revealed cause of death to be extended exposure to deadly amounts of Cyanogen, though the house was free of the toxic gas upon arrival of agents Newmann (deceased, case unreleased) and Hawkins. All doors had been sealed shut from the outside, trapping the family in with the deadly toxin and ensuring their deaths. All guards were later found decapitated, their bodies heaped in a pile outside the house, with a trail melted through the snow to ensure the assailant’s footprints could not be tracked. Total casualties - 14; Calliope Karali, Matthaios Karali (father), Eliana Karali (mother), Dora Karali (younger sister), and ten guards. Assailant unknown, suspected to be Morrigan Morgan.** ”

Your heart squeezed in sorrow as you read this case, a certain pain washing over you that you couldn’t really place. ‘ _ She was only sixteen… And to be killed in such an awful way… _ ’ Quickly, without even looking at the photos, you set the profile aside, opting to move onto the next before your emotions could overwhelm you.

“ **Kuroki, Urena**

**Alias; Impulse**

**B.O.O; Nagoya, Japan**

**Death - 12/30/20xx 13:50 pm. Urena Kuroki and her lover were found lounging on the living room couch, each with a bullet between the eyes. Assailant, Morrigan Morgan, identified via security cameras placed throughout the house, escaped and is now on the IWEDC. Heavy emphasis is to be placed on all forms of security concerning the living spaces of agents and their immediate family, and all agents are strongly encouraged to come live at the HQ until Morgan is caught and incarcerated.** ”

“Athena, what is the IWEDC?” you asked, looking through the photos in the file.

“The IWEDC, otherwise known as the International Watchlist of Extremely Dangerous Criminals, is an international database on the world’s most dangerous criminals at large. To date, there have never been more than four names on the list at a time.”

‘ _ Jeez! That means that this Morrigan is scary dangerous... _ ’ Reading through the rest, you weren’t really shocked by what you found after that; “Lefrancois, Ludovic - Malicious drowning; Pattyu, Anissa - Dragging death; Preece, Gwylan - Crushed between two hacked autonomous cars…” But, after those files, there was nothing, nothing except long-dried smeared ink suggesting someone put a fresh paper in there, then thought better about it.

Thoroughly concerned now, you finished sorting the files by death date and frowned. “Athena, search the database for a Morrigan Morgan,” you instructed, turning towards your holoscreen as you spoke. You couldn’t help it now; you had to know whether or not this person had been caught.

“Of course, Miss Marsh. Scanning… Found.”

Your screen flickered as it slowly began pulling up the record, but, before you could begin to read any of it, it flashed and changed, denying you access. “ _ Authorisation level 5 _ ” it read. You sighed in frustration, scratching your neck. ‘ _ I’ve been denied access? Well, I suppose I’m only supposed to be looking at agent’s files, but… surely Winston would have known I’d find this, right? What- _ ’

Your door slid open, startling you, and you only just managed to dismiss your screen in time for the commander himself to step in. “C-C-Commander!” you stuttered, giving him a nervous smile. “You-You-You startled me! What, uh, what can I do for-for you?”

He paused a second, as if analysing your behaviour, making you panic silently in your head, before he seemed to relax a bit. “I’ve come to fetch you. Did you already forget about your first training lesson?”

You fought back a sigh of relief, shaking your head as you stood and started furiously gathering up the files. “N-N-No sir! Of course not, sir! I-I just lost track of-of-of time and-”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Leave your stuff where it is, Soldier. No one’s going to come in here and move it. Come with me, I’ll lead you to the training room.”

“Yes, sir.”

He lead you quickly down a few levels to the training room, tossing you a pair of clothes almost as soon as you came in behind him. “Go get changed. We don’t want you ruining that pretty uniform Eugene had made for you.”

You nodded, easily catching the bundle and scurrying into the locker room where he pointed. It was nice and clean, and you got change quickly into the sweats and tank top. You felt a bit uncomfortable as you stepped out and went to stand on the mat, awkwardly looking around. Of course, you didn’t make a fuss about it; you didn’t want the Commander thinking that something like this unnerved you and it was only just a bit out of your comfort zone. You could handle this. 

Crossing an arm over your chest, you attempted to hide yourself as you waited for your opponent to show up. You hoped he hadn’t chosen anyone too overly fit, you were still mostly out of shape. Though you were a sucker for yoga, you had skipped leg day… and arm day, and cardio day, and all the days in between. So, while you had impeccable flexibility, your strength and endurance were a little more than somewhat lacking.

“Hey, sorry I’m late, Commander! Got a little caught up with everything, you know how it is,” came a voice from the doorway, and you nearly melted where you stood.

The man was tall, statuesque, and drool-worthy. A playful, crooked smile, messy black hair, and a cheerful laugh was all it took for you to be rooted to the spot, staring. It was easy to tell he was way far out of your league. It didn’t help that he was quickly stripping down to an undershirt and a pair of shorts as he approached the mat, letting you practically salivate as you watched his muscles shift. You could already feel the familiar anxiety building up in your chest.

“That’s alright, Mr. Rose. We all seem to have busy schedules nowadays. Miss Marsh, this is Mr. Rose, until he’s determined you’re in enough shape and fighting form to be sparring with our agents, he’ll be your sparring partner and your instructor. Mr. Rose, this is Miss Marsh. Treat her well, she’s Winston’s new assistant, we can’t break her too quickly.”

Mr. Rose turned to you, flashing a bright smile that made it hard to take your eyes off him, and held out a hand as he stepped onto the mat. “Ah, so this is the brilliant new assistant I’ve been hearing about for the past week! The name’s Dean.”

You stared at him, starstruck for a moment, before snapping to your senses and leaping forward, almost jabbing your nails into his palm as you went to shake his hand. “Bri-Bri-Briallen. It-It-It-It’s nice to-to-to meet you, s-s-s-sir!”

Dean laughed, his warm hand enveloping yours as he shook it, making your skin tingle. “Are you always this formal with everyone?”

You blushed and looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Mr. Rose served as a Sergeant in the American Army for quite a long time. He has a lot of wisdom to pass onto you, Soldier. I suggest you learn what you can, while you can.”

You nodded fervently, unable to look up at the man currently standing before you. ‘ _ If this Dean stays my instructor for longer than a few days, I think I’m actually going to die… _ ’

Dean let out a breathy chuckle, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go. “Don’t worry too much, Miss Marsh,” he said, drawing back a bit. “I’ll be sure to go easy on you at first. So, why don’t we start by seeing where you’re at right now. Go on, hit me as hard as you can.” 

You started a bit, eyes wide as he stepped back and held his arms out. “Um… okay…” ‘ _ I can’t hit him! I don’t want to hurt him, I mean, I doubt I would hurt him, I’m such a marshmallow, but, still, I don’t want to hurt him… But if I don’t… _ ’ Furrowing your brow, you clenched your hand into a fist, stiffened up a bit, and punched him lamely in the chest.

His smile faltered a bit as he let out a sigh, shaking his head and dropping his arms. “Miss Marsh-”

Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire as you looked away, crossing your arms over your stomach. “I-I know I just… I don’t-don’t want to-to-to hurt you.”

He chuckled, reaching forward to grab your hands. “You’re not going to hurt me. Here,” he tugged at your wrists and you let him pull your arms away from your body. You wouldn’t have done this had you realised he was planning on pressing one hand flat against his chest and the other against his abdomen. “See? Like solid steel. I promise you aren’t going to hurt me, and, if you somehow do, I’ll be insanely impressed.”

He was right. The muscles under your hands were incredibly firm, almost completely solid. It made your mouth water. You quickly dispersed those thoughts. ‘ _ I  _ can’t  _ hurt him? _ ’ you found a buried, stubborn part of you aching to prove him wrong, which worked perfectly alongside the part of you that deeply wanted to impress him. Flexing your hands, you nodded and backed up, reared back for the punch and…

 

_ Your shoulder slammed into the mat. Hard. Pain ripped through your arm and you stifled the cry that tried to escape your lips. Weakness wasn’t an option. The weight of your opponent pressed into your spine, grinding your hips painfully into the mat, fire racing through your upper back as your arms were pinned roughly behind you. You struggled under your opponent, desperately trying to rip your good arm out of their grasp and free yourself. _

_ “Come on, pussy,” they growled, grinding their sharp hips into your lower back, making you groan in pain. “Tap out. You can’t be the favourite forever, and you know you can’t beat me.” _

_ You bucked and twisted furiously, a surge of anger rushing through you at their words. You weren’t going to admit defeat. Not to them. With one last, aggressive twist, you managed to get a leg bent beneath you. Pushing up with all your might, you knocked their weight askew, allowing you to rip your arms from their grasp and completely push yourself up, sending them tumbling to the ground.  _

_ Though your left arm felt weak and heavy you knew you had no time to spare. If you wasted even a second they would strike again and you wouldn’t stand a chance. Thankfully, it wasn’t your right arm they had injured. _

 

“Would you like to tap out now, Miss Marsh?” Dean asked, adjusting his grip on your wrists so he was just holding them tight enough to keep you pinned on your back. His weight rested gently on your hips, not enough to hurt, but, again, enough to keep you pinned.

Sweat dripped down the side of your face as you tugged uselessly at your arms; Dean was fast and, while he had promised not to hurt you too early on in your training, he hadn’t promised mercy.

“No,” you responded, giving up on your current strategy and pausing to take a rest. Already it was obvious that you wouldn’t be good at fighting fair; though you were getting quicker, you were small and not very strong, which meant you’d have to rely on your wits instead of brawn when it came to melee.

“No, let me work it out.” ‘ _ I need a way to get him off of me that doesn’t include ripping my arms out of their sockets… I could fake him out… Get him to climb off me and then turn the tables on him… _ ’ Deciding on your strategy, you completely relaxed, letting out a resigned sigh. “Alright, I give, I give. You got me,” you said, shaking your head with a small smile.

Dean’s eyes widened and he gave you a quizzical look. “Really? You normally put up more of a fight than this.”

You shrugged as much as you physically could, chuckling. “Yeah. I’m still a bit sore from the thrashing you gave me yesterday and I can tell when I’m beat. So, I give.”

He quirked an eyebrow and began slowly shifting his weight off of your body. “Alright… if you say so…”

“I do,” you answered, nodding and waiting patiently until his weight rolled off your hips and he was almost completely off you. Banking on the shock causing him to release your wrists, you pushed up through your legs, twisting your back and swinging one up to catch his waist, using the momentum to roll him onto his back and pin him in place.

Green eyes blinked up at you as you smirked down at him, your noses almost brushing as you grabbed his wrists, holding them above his head. He laughed, surprised and obviously restraining himself as he “fought” back.

You laughed as well, struggling to hold his wrists down as he playfully wiggled around. “Hey! Stay still and let me pin you for once!”

He raised his head just a bit, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? And what if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll make you!” you responded, shifting your weight forward to hold his hands down better. 

“I’d like to see you try, pipsqueak.”

“Pipsqueak?!” Your voice cracked in a squeak as you echoed his teasing insult, and you laughed at it with him. “Oh, you’re in for it now, jerkwad!”

“Jerkwad? Is that the best you’ve got, cadet? You’re going to need to- mph!”

Rolling your eyes and letting your insecurities go, you leaned forward that little bit to close the distance and shut him up with a kiss, smiling when he immediately melted into it. You did as well, rather quickly, releasing his wrists to hold yourself up, your hands on either side of his head. A chuckle escaped you when his hands came up to rest on your waist, holding you still and-

In an instant, your back hit the mat again, and you let out a laughter-filled groan. Dean broke the kiss, readjusting himself so he had you pinned again. “Nice try, Miss Marsh. But, if you’re going to play dirty, I am as well.”

You rolled your eyes again, too overwhelmed with the excitement of what just happened. Not only did you kiss literally one of the most attractive people you’ve ever met, but you managed to break through that barrier of insecurities, and it made your heart beat heavily in your chest. As you turned your head away, you were unable to help but smile. “It’s not like I really have a choice, you know. Have you seen yourself? You’re a literal wall of muscle and I’m a little marshmallow.”

He leaned forward, his breath tickling your ear. “You always have a choice,” he whispered, giving your hips a little squeeze. “You could have just asked for a date instead of doing this. But, I’m not complaining.”

Your cheeks turned a bright red and your heart pounded excitedly in your chest. “I didn’t think it was an option…”

He laughed softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “Don’t put yourself down, Briallen. How does lunch tomorrow sound? I know this great little bistro that’s not too far from headquarters.”

Just as you were about to answer, the door to the training room slid open and the Commander walked in, breaking the atmosphere.

“Mr. Rose, how’s she coming along?” he asked, walking up to stand beside the mat as Dean slid off you, making sure to give your hips one last promising squeeze before your superior could see. The act made you wonder if this could get either one of you in trouble, and you cast a worried look over at Dean, who shook his head ever so slightly. 

“She’s progressing at an extraordinary rate, sir. She managed to get me pinned to the mat this time, while also learning the importance of not letting her guard down,” he responded, grabbing his towel to wipe down, smirking. 

The Commander nodded. “Good, good.”

You pushed yourself up, also going to towel off, but with a slight limp; one of your knees had hit the mat pretty hard when Dean had knocked you to the ground earlier and, while it thankfully wasn’t broken or shattered, it was a bit swollen and pulsed with heat. You were used to small aches and pains, however, after having worked hours at a time at your desk for a couple weeks, and getting beat up on the mat, be it by Dean or one of the other agents-in-training, so it didn’t bother you too much. Of course, you were always under Dean’s watchful gaze when you were pitted against one of the trainees, and he was quiet, allowing you to think on the spot and saving the advice for after you had your ass handed to you. All the while, you struggled to keep your attraction to him at a minimum, which, obviously didn’t work in the long run.

“Get an icepack on that, Soldier,” the Commander said gruffly, crossing his arms as he caught sight of your limp.

“Yes, sir,” you responded almost immediately, slipping on a jacket as the ac kicked on, chilling your skin. You did as you were told, grabbing one of the adhesive, moldable ice packs and sticking it on your knee.

“I’ll have McCree grab a biotic emitter for the ride downtown, we don’t want you looking like you just got beat up when you arrive.”

“Ride, sir?” you asked, cocking your head a bit as you furrowed your eyebrows. You weren’t aware of any meetings today, especially not one that was OOO (Out Of Office, as Winston liked to call it). You were almost one hundred percent sure that there weren’t any meetings for the rest of the day, and you checked and updated your calendar regularly. “I was unaware there were any meetings today.”

“Yes, well, it is a spur of the moment kind of thing. One of our negotiators fell ill and we need a step in. Winston seems to think you could use the experience,” he turned his head, meeting your gaze with powder blue eyes; he’d long since stopped wearing his visor around you, after the time you caught him with it off and lost your shit. You were chill with it now, of course. “That is, of course, if you don’t object to it.”

Your eyes widened and you quickly shook your head. “Of course not, sir!”

He smiled and nodded. “Good. Then I’ll need you fresh-faced and properly dressed in an hour. This beneficiary is very formal and we want to make a good impression. You’ll be leaving around 1400 hours.”

You nodded, quickly downing at least half of your water bottle before standing. “Yes, sir, of course.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Marsh,” Dean said, tossing his towel over his shoulder and giving you a wink. “Good luck at that meeting.”

You blushed a bit, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “Y-Yeah, thanks.”

“Miss Marsh, if you would please, I do have something I’d like to discuss with you,” said the Commander, letting his arms drop. “I’ll come with you so I don’t waste any of your time.”

Frowning a bit, you nodded and scurried after the old soldier as he turned to leave, clutching your water bottle tightly in one hand.

“A couple weeks ago, I found a rather interesting set of files on your desk,” he started after a couple seconds of agonising silence, walking next to you down the hall. His voice was calm, non-accusatory, but the topic still gave you chills; you’d been hoping no one found out about those. “Where did you get them?”

“I-I-In the box of-of-of files Winston gave me to update the first week,” you answered truthfully, swallowing nervously. You could already tell where this was going; you were going to get told off for trying to access files outside of your rank. For the past couple weeks, when you weren’t preoccupied with your work, training, or friends, you were doing everything in your power to learn everything you could about this Morrigan Morgan. You hadn’t found much due to your current level of clearance, but still, you felt like you were close to something, and there was just something about this person that you couldn’t ignore; you couldn’t get them out of your head, couldn’t shake the feeling of deja vu, couldn’t help but  _ want _ to know as much about them as you could.

The Commander hummed softly, glancing at you through the corner of his eye before looking ahead again, clasping his hands behind his back. “Tell me, Miss Marsh, what did you think of the contents of the files?”

“U-Um, well, I, uh, I think whoever this Morgan person is, they’re dangerous, like, really scarily dangerous. But… I think, no, sorry, I  _ know _ there’s more to the story than what I’ve read so far,” you said, rubbing your arm. “Some of those files hinted at the possibility of them having had… associates of some kind, perhaps even a whole organisation backing them.”

He nodded, turning the corner with you. “That’s true, she did, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is the fact that you should not have access to any of those files. I want you to forget everything you’ve read and drop the subject, Miss Marsh.”

‘ _ She? So Morgan’s a girl… _ ’ You started a bit as he said this, unwilling to actually give up the case; you felt as if you’d been getting close to something, some of that information just didn’t sit right with you, as if something was off or missing. It felt too important and you couldn’t just let it go, not when you felt as if you were getting so close, but, you held your tongue and nodded, swallowing a bit. “Yes-Yes, sir, of-of-of course, sir.”

“You do understand that there will be repercussions if you don’t?” he turned his gaze back on you, his eyes seeming to say ‘I don’t want to punish you, but I will if I have to.’

You nodded again, though in your head, you’d already resolved to do the exact opposite. Something had to be going on, something big, especially if the Commander was telling you to drop your investigation, if you could even call it that. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll leave you to it then, Soldier. You know where to meet them?”

“Yes, sir. In the car park, ground floor.”

He nodded with a grunt and turned off down another hallway, leaving you to walk to your room by yourself. 

 

Lena’s smile was bright as she greeted you in the car park, calling your name excitedly. She was dressed in an adorable suit, her accelerator strapped on beneath the coat, and you could see the handle of a handgun poking discreetly out from the waistband of her pants. “It’s been a while, luv! How’ve you been?”

You smiled, brushing back a strand of hair that fell loose from your bun. “Fine. Sorry about missing lunch with you and Lucio yesterday. Winston sprung some new files on me at the last minute and I didn’t want to leave a giant pile of paperwork to come back to.”

She just chuckled and shook her head, waving a dismissive hand. “No worries, luv! It happens sometimes. We can always meet tomorrow if it isn’t a problem.”

“Uh, well, the thing is,” you started, smiling sheepishly as you looked away. “I already have plans to go out with someone for lunch tomorrow.”

Her eyes widened and she reached out, taking your hands. “No!” she gasped, smiling as well. “It’s a date, isn’t it?!”

You giggled and nodded. 

She gasped again and gripped your hands harder. “No way! Who with?”

“You remember that guy I told you about, Dean?”

“Dean from Accounting or Dean the personal trainer?”

“Personal trainer Dean.”

Lena squealed and you squealed as well, letting her wrap you in a hug and jump up and down with you a bit before she pulled away. “You have to tell me all about it!”

“You’ve gotta date with Dean Rose?” came the familiar Southern drawl from the door to the car park, followed quickly by the familiar crooked smile and the smell of cigars and whisky as McCree approached you two. “It’s a shame, but, I suppose a pretty lady such as yourself was bound to get snatched up sooner or later,” he teased with a wink, chuckling as you blushed. “Just let me know if he doesn’t treat you right, I’ll be tannin’ his hide faster than you can say ‘draw’.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay,  _ dad _ , whatever you say.”

He shot you a playfully wounded look. “Aww, now, I’m hurt. Y’could at least say ‘daddy’ instead.”

“Nope! That conversation’s over! Let’s get in the car and get to the meeting, yeah?” Lena cut in, shaking her head quickly and pushing you towards the car. “We don’t want to be late for our meeting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is heavily influenced by all of you, so, make sure to leave your comments, pop by my Tumblr @candiedgears to leave a pm if you want, and, stop by my Mediocre Matchmaking Service where you get to vote on who our main character ends up with! Love you all and I'll see you in the next chapter!  
> pollmaker.vote/p/FZ9PH44P


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